


Previous Convictions

by Elfbert



Category: Ashes to Ashes, Life on Mars & Related Fandoms, Life on Mars (UK)
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Police Procedural, R/NC-17 - Brown Cortina, Time Period: Pre-1973 (Life on Mars)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-06-06
Updated: 2009-06-06
Packaged: 2019-01-20 18:11:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 69,729
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12438732
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elfbert/pseuds/Elfbert
Summary: It's 1948 and 19 year old PC Gene Hunt is trying his best to impress... but when the criminal he's trying to catch turns out to be a wayward teenager he takes pity on him. The decision has repercussions he could never have imagined - for both himself and the youngster.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Note from Janni, the archivist: this story was originally archived at [the Collators' Den](http://fanlore.org/wiki/The_Collators%27_Den), which was moved to the AO3 to ensure access and longevity for the fanworks. I began importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in October 2017. I e-mailed all creators about the move and posted announcements, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this creator, please contact me using the e-mail address on [the Collators' Den collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/collatorsden/profile).
> 
>  **Author's notes:** 27 chapters, 70,000ish words...all of which wouldn't be here without the help of Dakfinv and Cazzie, who offered their beta skills.

1948

 

 

Gene Hunt threw himself at the nearest man, knocking him to the ground with his shoulder. He span around, looking across the sea of bodies, trying to pick out the criminals from the coppers as fists flew and truncheons fought against any other makeshift weapons.

 

 

He saw a door open on the other side of the room as someone slipped out from behind some boxes and made a run for it. Gene shoved his way through the fighting men and slammed the door open, running down the corridor and skidding to a stop at the end. He saw a flash of movement as the person he was chasing rounded the next corner. Gene quickly followed and found himself outside.

 

 

The alleyway was dark and he couldn’t pick out any movement, but as he stopped he could hear running feet, so he followed the sound, his boots splashing through the puddles. He’d lost his helmet somewhere and the rain ran down his face and into his eyes. He avoided shapes that loomed out of the darkness. There were stacks of pallets and crates all over the place from the busy warehouses, a hundred places for a man to hide.

 

 

Gene stopped again, listening. The only sound was the rain. He walked on, trying to keep as quiet as he could. Either the other man had ducked back into a doorway and was well away, or he was hiding somewhere nearby.

 

 

Well, two could play at that game, Gene decided. He melted into the shadows and leant against a large packing crate, watching and waiting.

 

 

It felt like hours, but must have only been around five minutes before Gene thought he saw movement. He tensed, ready to catch the criminal scum. He’d teach that bastard no one gave Gene Hunt the slip that easily.

 

 

The figure stopped, still in the shadows, and waited again, looking straight at Gene, it seemed. Gene held his breath. The man didn’t look like a big bloke – probably why he didn’t stand and fight, Gene reasoned.

 

 

As soon as the figure began walking away, Gene moved, treading carefully as he moved swiftly, praying that he wouldn’t make a noise or otherwise alert his prey. He spotted something leaning up against one of the crates – a crowbar – and picked it up, hefting it in his hand, then resting it back over his shoulder.

 

 

He was only a couple of metres away from the man when suddenly the bloke glanced over his shoulder. Gene leapt forward and swung the crowbar on instinct. The man ducked and tried to throw his arms up to protect himself.

 

 

At the last moment Gene got his first proper look at his quarry. And suddenly he realised that it was a boy - no more than fifteen. Gene tried to halt the swing of the metal, but he couldn’t stop it, only lessen the force, catching the boy squarely around the head.

 

 

The boy crumpled to the ground and Gene swore.

 

 

He dropped to his knees in the wet and pushed the kid’s arms away from his head. Gene immediately put his hand to the boy’s grubby neck and breathed a sigh of relief when he found a pulse. He picked up the still form, grunting with effort – even though he was only a kid, he was all muscle. Gene guessed that he probably worked in the dockyard.

 

 

He kicked open a nearby door, wanting to find some light as well as get the kid somewhere warmer and dry. Then he’d find out how the boy was mixed up in the illegal gambling ring they were trying to break. If he ever woke up, that was.

 

 

He dumped the kid down unceremoniously and found a light switch. The light was quite poor, but it did show the bright red streak that had appeared from the kid’s temple. Dark blond hair was matted with blood where Gene had caught him with the iron crowbar, and his face was bruised – blood running from a cut near his eye and more from his nose.

 

 

Gene swore again, loudly. He hadn’t hit him that hard. He grabbed some sacks from the floor and gave them a cursory shake before shoving them under the kid’s head. Then he gave boys cheek a gentle slap.

 

 

“Wake up,” he ordered.

 

 

There was no movement.

 

 

“For Christ’s sake, wake up!” Gene shook the boy roughly. He’d only been in the job for a few months, he couldn’t afford to have anything like this happen.

 

 

He walked into a nearby room and found there was a sink with some mugs sitting next to it. He filled one of the mugs and took it back to the boy, pulling his handkerchief from his pocket and wetting it in the cold water. He mopped up some of the blood, but realised that he couldn’t possibly be the cause of all the kid’s injuries.

 

 

He picked up one of the boy’s hands and brought it up to his face, looking at the bruises and cuts on the knuckles. Then, without warning, the hand was snatched away and the boy pushed himself to sitting, scuffing backwards.

 

 

“Don’t touch me, you nonce,” he spat. He looked around wildly, but Gene had him cornered.

 

 

“Oi, calm down. I’m trying to help you,” Gene frowned.

 

 

“Yeah? Why’d you ‘it me then?” The boy reached up to his head and pressed his fingers against the wound, wiping the blood on his already filthy trousers.

 

 

“What’ve you got to do with that lot,” Gene gestured in the direction of the warehouse where the raid had taken place.

 

 

The boy looked away, staying silent.

 

 

“What’s your name?” Gene pushed.

 

 

There was still no answer.

 

 

Gene sat heavily on a nearby crate, pulling his cigarettes from his pocket. “I’ve got all night,” he said, offering the pack.

 

 

For a second, The boy didn’t move, then stood up. Gene wondered if he’d try to run, but instead he took one of the offered fags and sat down again.

 

 

“You ain’t gonna arrest me then?”

 

 

Gene snorted out a stream of smoke. “You ‘aven’t told me what you’ve done yet.”

 

 

The silence stretched, and Gene wondered what he was going to do. He’d be missed soon – for all he knew there were already people out looking for him.

 

 

“I was boxin’,” the boy said. “They lay wagers, we fight. Tha’s all.”

 

 

Gene looked him up and down. He had heavy cloth trousers and hobnail boots on. It was obvious he worked on the docks legitimately during the day.

 

 

“An illegal gambling ring, you mean?” Gene pushed.

 

 

The boy shrugged. “They pay me to win or lose.”

 

 

“A bent illegal betting ring,” Gene snorted.

 

 

The boy shrugged. “’S money, innit? They’re stupid enough to give it over.”

 

 

Gene laughed. The kid was right. Anyone who paid money to watch two men beat the crap out of each other when it was so easy to fix the fights probably deserved anything they got. And he doubted the kid got much of a cut of the money.

 

 

“Name’s Gene Hunt,” he said, holding out his hand.

 

 

The boy looked suspicious, then put his cigarette in his mouth and took the offered hand. “Rob,” he said.

 

 

“You should get off home,” Gene threw down his dog end.

 

 

“Can’t,” the boy answered.

 

 

“Oh?”

 

 

He waved a hand. “Your lot’ve just collared me uncle. Can’t go home without ‘im. His bird don’t like me.”

 

 

Gene nodded slowly. “Ah.”

 

 

The kid rubbed his hand over his face, wiping blood across his forehead. Then gently pushed his fingers against his battered skull again.

 

 

“I di’n’t mean to hit you,” Gene said. “I thought you were…I dunno, you looked older.”

 

 

“’S what everyone says,” the boy answered, managing to look a little bit smug.

 

 

Gene wondered what sort of trouble he managed to get himself into, passing himself off as older than he was.

 

 

“What are you goin’ to do?” Gene asked.

 

 

The stocky shoulders were lifted into a shrug for a moment. “Kip ‘ere. ‘S as good a place as any, once your lot ‘ave cleared out.”

 

 

Gene looked around the damp cold warehouse, then suddenly made a decision. “Come with me.”

 

 

 

He walked quickly through the dark dockyard, then out into the streets. He half supported, half dragged the boy until they were standing outside the front door of a house a few streets away. Gene fumbled in his pocket and pulled out a set of keys. He opened the door and called out.

 

 

“Mum?”

 

 

A middle aged lady appeared from the front room and scowled. “What the…Eugene?” she said sharply. “An’ what’s ‘appened to you?” She reached out and tipped Rob’s head back.

 

 

“’E hit me,” the boy gestured to Gene.

 

 

“Eugene!” she cuffed him around the head, her hand moving so fast there was no way he could avoid the blow in the small hallway.

 

 

“Mum! Should ‘ave arrested ‘im by rights, but he’s only a kid. I thought – Mum, can you just….get him cleaned up? Let him stay for the night? Soon as I’m off my shift I’ll come back an’ get ‘im, take ‘im home. Otherwise I gotta take ‘im down the station.”

 

 

The boy scowled as Gene described him as a kid, but stayed silent.

 

 

Gene’s mother tutted. “You come in ‘ere then, lad. What’s yer name? Let’s ‘ave a look. Did my Gene do all this to you?” She turned and pinned Gene with a glare as she said the last.

 

 

“I didn’t, Mum. He were like that before I found ‘im,” Gene protested.

 

 

“Name’s Rob,” the boy answered, trying to look as pathetic as he could.

 

 

“Well, I’m Mrs Hunt, Rob. Now, let’s get you cleaned up.” She turned to Gene. 

 

“Get on, then,” she ordered. “You must ‘ave work to do. An’ you better come fetch ‘im first thing, cos your Dad’ll not be pleased to come ‘ome to find ‘im. He’ll give you both a thick ear.”

 

 

Gene frowned at being told off. “Just…watch ‘im, Mum. I’ll be back soon as I can.” 

 

 

Gene ran back to the dockyard, hoping he’d done the right thing. He knew he couldn’t have left the boy alone after the clout around the head he’d taken, but he wasn’t sure he should have dragged his mum into the situation. Arresting the kid would have got him nowhere though, and probably would have made him a laughing stock at the station. He managed to slip back into the ongoing chaos of the aftermath of the raid unnoticed, and breathed a sigh of relief.

 

 

***

 

 

Winnie Hunt made the boy sit at the small kitchen table whilst she bustled around - fetching antiseptic and running some warm water into a bowl. 

 

 

“And look at the state of you,” she finally said, sitting down next to the filthy child. “Don’t look like you’ve ‘ad a bath in a month.”

 

 

The boy winced as she cleaned his face, the antiseptic stinging in the numerous cuts and scrapes.

 

 

“You been fighting? Don’t try an’ tell me no different, I’ve seen my boys like this often enough.”

 

 

The boy nodded, managing to look even sorrier for himself.

 

 

“You shouldn’t fight. No gentlemen should,” she scolded, although she had to admit the boy didn’t look much like a gentleman.

 

 

The boy shrugged.

 

 

Winnie moved her attentions to the cut and growing lump on the side of the kid’s head. She tutted loudly.

 

 

“Getting’ yerself all caught up in this, at your age. How old are you?” she asked.

 

 

“Sixteen,” the boy answered.

 

 

“Well, really. I remember when my two were sixteen. My Gene had his first job. Your sort should look up to lads like ‘im. He didn’t come from much, an’ look what he’s made of hi’self. Proud of him, I am. Any mother would be. What d’your parents think of you, eh? Getting’ all in trouble? Think they’re proud?”

 

 

 

“They’re dead,” the boy answered, not looking at her. “An’ me uncle’s the one what got me into this. An’ I do work, at the docks. 'Ave done since I left school.”

 

 

Winnie tutted again, finally deciding that the boy would probably live. The one thing she didn't like about Gene's job was the violence - criminals didn't have any respect not anymore. And she worried about him, although she would never let on, knowing Gene would tell her she was being a silly old woman.

 

 

“Now, you want a cup of tea? What about some food? You eaten?”

 

 

The kid shook his head. “Not ate nothin’ all day.”

 

 

Winnie busied herself putting the kettle on the stove and finding some bread and leftovers, making a proper meal for the child she suddenly found herself caring for. In truth, she missed her boys – both of them – and quite enjoyed the chance to take care of this new waif, especially as he seemed to be having a hard time.

 

 

 

It was midnight before she shooed the boy up the stairs and made him have a wash before bed. When she was sure he’d settled down in Gene’s old room, she finally headed to bed herself. The boy had seemed like a nice kid, under all the dirt and grime, and she had taken to him. He hadn’t talked much, but he’d been polite enough and seemed genuinely grateful that she’d fed him and taken care of him, his bright blue eyes shining when he smiled up at her.

 

 

***

 

 

As soon as he could escape the station, Gene headed back through the city streets to his mother’s house. He let himself in and, smelling breakfast cooking, was glad he was in time.

 

 

He walked into the kitchen to find his mother tending the pan on the stove.

 

 

“’Ello Mum.” He gave her a kiss on the cheek. “Everything all right?”

 

 

“Yes, dear. Young Rob’s been quiet as a mouse. I didn’t want to wake ‘im until his breakfast was ready.”

 

 

Gene nodded. “I’ll go. Gotta see if one of ‘em we’ve charged is ‘is uncle – if so he ain’t going t’be home for a while anyway. Suppose we’ll ‘ave to see what to do with ‘im.”

 

 

Winnie shook her head. “For the best, I’d say. That poor boy, seems like he’d be better off without that sort of influence.”

 

 

Gene nodded, having had the same thoughts himself, and wishing he’d asked Rob’s surname so he could have made sure his uncle got what he deserved.

 

 

He climbed the stairs and opened the door to his old room, not bothering to knock. The bed was empty, covers in a mess. Gene slammed the door of the small bathroom open too, hoping that the kid had just got up, but there was no one there. 

 

 

Gene thumped down the stairs two at a time.

 

 

“He’s gone, little bastard’s gone,” he spat.

 

 

“Language, Gene!” his mother scolded. Then a look of worry passed across her face and she headed for a pot on the worktop. She pulled the top off and looked inside.

 

 

“Little bastard!” She exclaimed. “E’s ‘ad all me housekeepin."

 

 

“You wait ‘til I find ‘im.” Gene’s eyes blazed with anger. “I’ll fuckin’ teach ‘im, you just see if I don’t. Little scrote.”


	2. Chapter 1

1963

 

 

“Hunt!”

 

 

Gene scrambled to his feet as Woolf bellowed from his office.

 

 

He pushed open the door and stood in front of Woolf’s desk. “Sir?”

 

 

“Job for you. Just got word there’s a new DC coming over, transferring from B division. You show him the ropes, get him settled.”

 

 

Gene snorted. “Isn’t there someone else could do that, Sir? I’m workin’ on this…”

 

 

Woolf cut him off. “No, Gene. He’s going to be your new boy. You do it.”

 

 

“Sir…I don’t need no one to work with. Especially not some wet-be’ind-the–ears new kid.”

 

 

“Look, Hunt,” Woolf stood up and leant over his desk. “I’ve had enough of you. You’re a loose cannon. Christ knows no one here wants to work with you, but this…DC Carling, he’s asked – specifically, mind – to be teamed with you. And by the sounds of it, you’ll get on fine. He’s being moved ‘cause he broke DI Turner’s nose in an argument.”

 

 

Gene’s face broke into a smile – the first all day. He grunted. “Maybe he ain’t so bad then. That bastard deserves anything comin’ his way.” Then he frowned. “Carling? I don’t know ‘im – never ‘eard of ‘im. Why’s he want to work with me?”

 

 

Woolf gave Gene a look that told him exactly what he thought about that attitude towards senior officers. “I’ve no bloody idea. I’m just glad someone does, finally. Just…bring him up to date with your cases when he arrives. Show him the beat, the usual.”

 

 

Gene nodded, still confused as to why a copper he’d never even heard of had asked to work with him specifically.

 

 

Every time the door to CID opened he found himself looking up, but it was over two hours before a stranger walked in.

 

 

Gene sat back in his chair. The man was stocky – looked like he could take care of himself. He was carrying a box of things, wearing a jacket, but his tie was loose and his collar undone, a cigarette hung out of his mouth under his moustache. His hair was a dirty blond, looking slightly unruly, and his eyes darted around the office before settling on Gene. Then, without hesitation he headed straight for him.

 

 

Gene frowned. There was something vaguely familiar about the man, but Gene couldn’t place him. It was obvious, however, that the newcomer was having no such problems.

 

 

“DS Hunt.” The man shifted the box to one side and held out his hand. “DC Ray Carling.”

 

 

Gene sniffed, then slowly stood up and shook the offered hand firmly.

 

 

There was definitely something familiar about the striking blue eyes that looked at him with amusement.

 

 

“You can ‘ave that desk.” Gene gestured to an almost-empty desk beside his. “Get yerself sorted, then I’ll show you ‘round.”

 

 

The other man nodded and set about shoving all the rubbish off the desktop and replacing it with his own belongings – an ashtray, a mug and various pens and other trappings of office life. Once he’d finished Gene heaved himself off the edge of his desk and beckoned. “C’mon. I’ll tell you the cases we’re on an’ show you the manor.”

 

 

Ray nodded and followed Gene out. They headed for the garage and Gene lit a cigarette, offering the packet to his new partner.

 

 

Gene enjoyed an easy day driving around the city and explaining the crimes currently on their books. Ray obviously knew the city well, so it wasn’t too difficult to get him up to speed. Gene found he shared a lot of crime-fighting philosophies with Ray too.

 

 

“So, how long you been in the force then?” Gene asked.

 

 

“Five year,” Ray answered.

 

 

“An’ before?” Gene pushed, wondering if he knew the man from somewhere else.

 

 

“Worked on the boats, been abroad for a bit.” Ray shrugged. “All sorts.”

 

 

Gene nodded, but there was still nothing that gave him a clue.

 

 

“Where abroad?” he finally asked.

 

 

“All over, ended up in Malaya,” Ray answered.

 

 

“Malaya, eh? See much of the trouble out there?”

 

 

Ray shrugged again, looking away. “Fair share.”

 

 

Gene frowned slightly. Ray had been fairly open and chatty about most things that day, but his past was obviously not something up for discussion. Gene filed away that bit of information for later.

 

 

 

When they finally returned to the station, though, Gene still hadn’t figured out where he knew Ray from – and after the past few hours he knew that they’d met before. It annoyed him. He was a copper, he should be able to place names and faces easily.

 

 

He settled behind his desk, watching as Ray pulled out his desk drawer and settled his feet in it, lighting a cigarette and regarding Gene with the slightly-amused expression he’d been wearing all day.

 

 

“So, where d’you know me from, then?” Gene said, finally giving in.

 

 

Ray reached into his pocket and pulled out his wallet.

 

 

“Thought you’d never ask.” Ray fished in his wallet and pulled a couple of shillings out. He held them out to Gene. “Give these to yer Mum. Tell her I’m sorry, and I’ve added a bit, for inflation, like,” he smiled.

 

 

And suddenly memories assaulted Gene. He shot to his feet and in two strides was standing over the other man, his fist driving into Ray’s face. The force of the blow knocked Ray backwards, sprawling out of his chair and onto the floor.

 

 

“Fuckin’ BASTARD,” Gene shouted. “Think you can come in ‘ere, laughing at me all day…you’re nothin’ but a thieving little SHIT.”

 

 

He pulled his foot back and landed a hefty kick in Ray’s stomach, watching with satisfaction as he rolled about on the floor, blood spilling out from his hands, which were clutched over his face. 

 

 

Harry Woolf stood by the window in his office, sipping on a scotch. He was amazed to see his new DC chatting to Hunt, looking relaxed. No one had ever come back from a day being thrown around Manchester by Hunt’s driving with a smile still on their face. Woolf nodded to himself. Perhaps he was finally going to get an officer who was a match for Hunt. Everything he’d heard about Carling had indicated that he and Gene would either get along famously or kill each other within minutes. And now they’d both survived the first day Woolf was hoping the former was coming true. He turned away from the window for a second, pouring another slug of Scotch into his glass. When he turned back it was just in time to see Gene throwing a bone-crunching blow into Ray's face. He almost dropped his tumbler in his haste to open his office door.

 

 

“HUNT!” Woolf bellowed.

 

 

Gene caught himself just before he delivered another vicious kick. Ray took the opportunity to drag himself to his feet, hand still over his face, and move away, leaning on the desks and leaving smears of blood.

 

 

“’S nothin’, Sir,” Ray said, his speech muffled by his hand.

 

 

“Bloody nothing? I’ll give you nothing! Hunt?”

 

 

Gene flexed his fingers, wondering if he’d broken a knuckle on Ray’s face.

 

 

“Disagreement, Sir,” he answered, shooting a venomous look at Ray.

 

 

“ONE day, Hunt. You’ve spent ONE day with the man. Only you…” he looked to where Ray was spilling blood all over the office. “Oh, for Christ’s sake. Get yourself to hospital. Hunt – you take him, and believe me, if you two aren’t both back in here tomorrow with new fucking attitudes, ready to work together, then you’re both out – gone. Do you understand me?”

 

 

Hunt nodded, and as soon as Woolf had turned his back he picked up the two shillings from the floor and grabbed Ray by the scruff of the neck. “Come on, you lying thieving bastard,” he hissed, steering the younger man through the room. “And if you get one fuckin’ drop of blood in my car you’ll be lickin’ the whole fucking thing clean.”

 

 

Ray sat silently in the car, his head tipped back just enough to control the flow of blood. Gene glanced across at him.

 

 

“It broken?” he finally asked.

 

 

Ray grunted in the affirmative. 

 

 

Gene was beginning to feel tiny pangs of regret, now that his anger was subsiding. Twice he’d met Ray…or Rob…Gene made a mental note to ask about that later…and both times he’d managed to spill the man’s blood. He cast an assessing glance over the man. He’d bulked up a bit, lost all of the slight awkwardness of youth. And if his transfer was anything to go by, Gene guessed he could give as good as he got in a fight, but there had never been any suggestion that he was going to hit Gene back. And, Gene reasoned, there was no reason for the man ever to have met him again, even less to offer the money back, even if the bastard had been smirking when he did.

 

 

He had thought about apologising, but decided that driving Ray to the hospital was apology enough.

 

 

“Why’d you find me, then?” Gene asked. “You could’ve gone to any nick in Manchester.”

 

 

“Wanted to see y’again. Thank you, like, for lettin’ me go, back then,” Ray answered, tasting blood as he spoke. “Was ‘cause ‘f you I ‘cided to be a copper.”

 

 

Gene was about to point out that he hadn’t exactly let the other man go, but he chose to let it lie, and felt a tiny swell of pride that he’d at least influenced Ray to change his thieving ways.

 

 

“So what is yer name? Rob, or Ray?”

 

 

“Ray. Rob was me brother,” Ray answered, gently pinching the bridge of his nose and seeing if he could move it. His eyes watered with pain.

 

 

“Yeah? Tryin’ to get ‘im in trouble, were you?” Gene accused.

 

 

“Not likely. He died in the war.”

 

 

Gene grunted.

 

 

“So, what? You got back ‘ere and needed a job and thought of me, an’ what an upstanding pillar of the community I was an’ all, and decided to follow in my footsteps?”

 

 

Ray shrugged. “Seemed like I could get a steady wage at it. An’ no worry of unemployment, neither. An’ if you could do it…”

 

 

Gene sagged a little, then frowned. “Cheeky bastard.” But in truth he couldn’t be that angry. At least Ray was adding a little bit of life to the department – most of CID were either under their other half’s thumb so firmly they could barely wiggle or stuck in the bottom of a scotch bottle.

 

 

“So you married then?” Gene asked.

 

 

Ray shook his head, and it seemed to Gene as if he’d tensed just a little at the question.

 

 

“Girlfriend?” Gene pushed.

 

 

Ray shook his head again.

 

 

Gene frowned a little. Ray wasn’t that bad looking. At least, if the hospital could rebuild his nose he might not be. There was no reason why he shouldn’t have a girl.

 

 

“You?” Ray asked, although he didn’t sound like he cared.

 

 

Gene nodded. “Yeah, few years now.”

 

 

Ray grunted.

 

 

 

They pulled up outside the casualty unit and Gene followed Ray in. He flashed his badge at the nurse on the desk.

 

 

“Sort ‘im out, will you love?” Gene leered.

 

 

The nurse shied away from Gene, but took Ray by the arm and led him to one of the nearby cubicles.

 

 

“Let’s have a look then, sir.”

 

 

She took Ray’s blood-soaked hands away from his face and frowned. “I’ll fetch the doctor.”

 

 

Ray nodded and Gene, who had leant up against the concrete pillar near the bed, could see that Ray’s eyes were already blackening.

 

 

It wasn’t long before the nurse was back with some ice and a wet flannel. She tried to clean most of the blood off Ray, leaving him with a huge streak of red down his shirt front and over his cuffs.

 

 

“The doctor will come and see if he can’t set it in a minute,” she explained. “Until then, just hold this ice on there.”

 

 

Ray settled his head back, the ice pack perched on his face.

 

 

Gene dragged a chair over to him and sat down heavily.

 

 

“So why’d’you take the money?” he asked, knowing that Ray couldn’t go anywhere or avoid the question now.

 

 

Ray opened an eye and looked at Gene.

 

 

“Thought if I could take somethin’ back to me aunt me uncle woul’n’t go as mad,” Ray answered. “Di’n’t work though.”

 

 

“Why, what’d he do?” Gene said.

 

 

Ray gestured to his face. “’bout the same as you did.”

 

 

Gene felt a surge of guilt.

 

 

“Was pro’ly a good thing. Meant I got out. Joined up…I mean,” Ray tried to correct himself. “Joined a crew, out’f the docks. Worked on the boats.”

 

 

Gene nodded. “An’ ended up in Malaya?”

 

 

Ray spat some blood into the tin bowl the nurse had left. “Went there to pick up a cargo’n when we got there they’d gone bust. Got stuck. Stayed a year or so working a plantation ‘fore I could get a ride ‘ome – another job, I mean, ‘nother skipper took me on.”

 

 

“So what was it like? Malaya, I mean.” Gene asked. He’d never been abroad and it had always intrigued him, the thought of other people living their lives out in foreign lands.

 

 

“Hot. Rained a lot. Sticky.”

 

 

Gene waited for Ray to carry on, but he didn’t.

 

 

“Pretty girls?” Gene pushed.

 

 

There was a pause that lasted too long before Ray nodded and shrugged. “Some, yeah.”

 

 

Gene shut up. There was plenty of time to get to know his new partner. He mulled it over in his head. Partner. He’d avoided them in the past, but mainly because the guys on the squad were either so old Gene felt like he should be driving them around in a hearse, or so young they’d been clueless idiots who’d held him back and annoyed him so much he’d felt like he was running a nursery school. Ray was different. Gene didn’t feel like he needed to nursemaid him, although he knew Ray was a few years younger than himself, from their previous meeting.

 

 

When the doctor came to set Ray’s nose straight, Gene wished he’d waited outside. The sound made him feel sick. It was quickly masked by Ray swearing loudly though. And besides, he figured it was probably some sort of penance for being the one that inflicted the injury to begin with.

 

 

 

“C’mon,” Gene inclined his head once Ray was allowed up. “I’ll drop you ‘ome.”

 

 

“Car’s at the nick,” Ray answered, looking down at his wrecked shirt.

 

 

“Well I’ll come an’ fetch you in the morning’, too, then. I want to speak to a couple of scrotes first thing anyway.”

 

 

Ray nodded.

 

 

“How about we stop off for a swift one, too,” Gene offered. “I’m buyin’.”

 

 

Ray seemed to perk up a bit at that and Gene smiled. He’d once been given a partner who was teetotal. He still shivered at the memory.

 

 

Ray directed him toward the bedsit he called home, indicating a pub as they drew closer. “’S the best boozer nearby,” he said. Then looked at Gene. “That ain’t sayin’ much though.”

 

 

Gene nodded, noting the peeling paintwork and smashed window that had been taped up. He followed Ray in, noticing that a few regulars nodded towards Ray or lifted their glasses and no one commented on the fact he was still covered in blood. It told Gene a lot about the place.

 

 

“All right, Alf?” Ray greeted the barman. “Usual, cheers.”

 

 

Gene nodded to the man and scanned the pumps. “Pint of best, and two chasers,” he added.

 

 

“Cheers,” Ray smiled at Gene’s generosity.

 

 

“What ‘appened then?” the barman asked, gesturing at Ray.

 

 

“Work,” Ray answered truthfully.

 

 

The barman just nodded, not asking anything else.

 

 

He placed the drinks on the bar and Gene paid for them, then both men headed for a quiet table in the corner.

 

 

“You live ‘round ‘ere then?” Gene asked.

 

 

Ray nodded. “Just around the corner.”

 

 

“Bit of a shit hole, innit?” Gene asked, keeping his voice low. He didn’t care if he offended Ray, but he could do without bringing the whole pub down on himself.

 

 

Ray shrugged. “Beggars ‘n choosers.”

 

 

 

When Gene finally dropped Ray off in the next street he thought about getting out of the car and seeing what Ray’s bedsit was like, but then decided against it. He figured he was probably better off not knowing. He made a mental note to keep an eye out for places that had rooms to let nearer the station. And then he wondered when he suddenly became so concerned about the dishonest little bastard that he’d laid out earlier for nicking his mum’s housekeeping.

 

 

He roared off into the night, leaving Ray to whatever cockroach-infested fleapit he’d got himself.


	3. Chapter 3

By the time the bruises under Ray’s eyes had faded and his broken bones had knitted, Gene felt as if he’d known Ray for years. There was an easy banter between them, and more importantly, communication without words when it came to the job. Gene knew that if a suspect tried to run, Ray would be there, grabbing him. If they were searching for someone then they would split up without a word being said. Gene knew he could depend on Ray during the rough stuff or trust him to get reports in on time. He could also depend on him to stand his rounds in the pub afterwards, which in Gene’s mind made him a more than adequate partner. He was fast becoming Gene’s best friend.

 

 

Ray looked over at Gene, noting that his pint was hardly touched and the conversation was seriously lacking.

 

 

“Want a game of darts?”

 

 

Gene continued to turn the beer mat he held over and over in his hand.

 

 

“Gene?”

 

 

Gene finally looked up. “What?”

 

 

“Said d’you want a game of darts?” Ray repeated.

 

 

Gene shook his head slowly.

 

 

“Want to tell me what’s up then? You’re miles away.”

 

 

Gene stayed silent for a long moment. “It’s me brother. I…he ‘asn’t been around, last few weeks. Dunno where he’s got to.”

 

 

Ray took a long sip of his pint, assessing Gene’s demeanour. “If I can help…” he finally offered.

 

 

Gene looked up again. “Yeah. I mean, thanks. I dunno…there’s…” he shrugged, then leant forward, resting his elbows on the table. “He got himself into some trouble. I tried to help, but…we didn’t always see eye to eye. Not once those bastards had finished pushing their shit onto him, fucking up his mind. And now he’s disappeared. Gone. And I’ve run out of places to look. Mum’s so worried…” he shook his head.

 

 

Ray nodded. “What’s ‘is name?”

 

 

“Stuart. Stu, we call him. He…he’s been…he got mixed up with drugs. Speed. I didn’t know what to do. I tried to help, I tried keepin’ him away from ‘em, we even had fights…but…”

 

 

“And now he’s gone?”

 

 

Gene nodded silently.

 

 

“I’ll…I’ll try an’ help. After all, I know how easy it is to disappear.”

 

 

Gene looked up sharply. “You didn’t leave anyone behind though, did you?”

 

 

Ray looked into his beer and shook his head. “No one who cared.”

 

 

Gene gave a sad smile. “’S probably what Stu thought. Last thing I did was tell him he was a waste of space.”

 

 

Ray bought Gene a scotch and drank in stoic silence with him.

 

 

 

Over the next few weeks Ray helped Gene out in any way he could, spending almost as much time working when they were off-duty as on, but inside he knew it was probably a pointless exercise. Stu could have gone anywhere, and they could barely get further than the city boundaries before any trails ran completely cold. And as the time passed there were fewer and fewer leads to follow. It hurt Ray, to see Gene slowly losing hope, but he knew there was no point in offering platitudes. One night he shrugged into his coat and looked to Gene. “What tonight?” he asked.

 

 

Gene shook his head in silence. The leads had been fewer and fewer, the trail had gone cold.

 

 

“Gene?” Ray prompted.

 

 

“There’s nothing…there’s nothing left,” he answered quietly.

 

 

Ray agreed, but he didn’t say so.

 

 

“Pub?” he offered eventually.

 

 

Gene shook his head. “Got to go an’ see me Mum.”

 

 

Ray nodded, knowing it would be the hardest thing Gene ever had to do – admit that he was giving up. He thought of the old lady who had been so kind to him. He wondered if anyone had cared, when he hadn’t come home the night he’d left. He doubted it, but now there was the smallest niggle in the back of his mind.

 

 

***

 

 

Woolf watched the two young men as they developed as a team. He’d never seen anyone who could match Gene punch for punch or pint for pint before, but Ray seemed to manage both. Even if their occasional disagreements had the rest of the squad cowering out of harm’s way, the two men always seemed to make up in the end. Harry realised there was something going on that he didn’t fully know about – their first day together it had been obvious there was some history there, but Woolf knew better than to dig around. Sometimes it was better to ask no questions, hear no lies, as the old saying went. The two of them had a better clear up rate than most of the rest of the station put together, and that was good enough for Woolf.

 

 

***

 

 

Gene leant on the roof of the car and looked across at Ray. “Got anywhere you need to be?” he asked.

 

 

Ray shook his head.

 

 

“Good. Got someone wants to meet you.”

 

 

Ray waited until Gene wasn’t looking at him before he rolled his eyes. He supposed that it was some girl Gene had decided to try and set him up with, and he really couldn’t be bothered putting on the show of being interested.

 

 

“Get in then!” Gene yelled from inside the car.

 

 

Ray sank into the passenger seat and took very little notice of where they were heading.

 

 

“Here we are,” Gene announced, screeching to a halt and looking up at a small neat house.

 

 

Ray gave in and looked, then frowned. There wasn’t a pub in sight, just a neat terrace. “Who’s ‘ere then?” he asked.

 

 

Gene just gestured for Ray to follow him and rang the doorbell of the nearest house. Ray hung back, looking up and down the street out of habit. He glanced up when the door opened and froze.

 

 

“Mum,” Gene gestured to Ray. “Brought someone to apologise to you.”

 

 

Ray flicked his gaze onto Gene, then back to the old lady standing on the doorstep. He wiped his palm on his jacket and stepped forward, holding his hand out. “Mrs Hunt…uh…”

 

 

A flash of recognition sparked in Winnie Hunt’s eyes and she ignored the offered hand, stepping forward and delivering a swift cuff around Ray’s ear. “After all I did for you an’ that’s how you repay a kindness? Stealin’ off an old lady? I knew my Gene’d find you in the end – he’s a good boy, honest, not like your sort!”

 

 

Ray ducked backwards to avoid any more blows. “’M sorry,” he muttered. “I…didn’t mean…an’ I gave the money back to Gene…”

 

 

Winnie fixed Gene with a stern look.

 

 

“Only the other day!” Gene protested. “I told you you had to meet my new DC. Turned up in the office the other week, out of the blue.”

 

 

Winnie regarded Ray suspiciously, then stood back. “You’d better come in then. An’ this time you can keep them theivin’ hands to yourself, young man!”

 

 

Ray followed Gene through to the kitchen and leant against the worktop, accepting an offer for a mug of tea and resisting the urge to rub his stinging ear.

 

 

“Look like you’ve been fightin’ again, young Rob,” Winnie said disapprovingly.

 

 

Ray gave Gene a sly look then jabbed his thumb toward him. “Your Gene hit me again.”

 

 

Winnie shook her head at her son.

 

 

“His real name ain’t Rob, it’s Ray,” Gene retaliated. “Lyin’ little toe-rag.”

 

 

Winnie Hunt looked from one boy to the other, shaking her head. “Least you’re lookin’ after yourself better now. Got some meat on your bones. And a proper job. You stick with Eugene, he’ll teach you right from wrong,” she nodded.


	4. Chapter 4

1965

 

 

Ray stopped clapping for long enough to stick his fingers in his mouth and let out a piercing whistle, then he reached into his bottom desk drawer and pulled out the whisky bottle he kept there. He grabbed three mugs as he headed toward Gene, who was standing by Woolf’s office doors, a cocksure grin on his face.

 

 

“Here,” Ray poured three healthy slugs of whisky into the mugs and offered one first to Woolf, then to Gene and kept the last one, raising it high. “DI Hunt,” he called to the room. “You jammy bastard,” he said quietly, the wide smile on his face taking the sting out of the words.

 

 

***

 

 

Gene tipped back his glass, slamming it back onto the bar and smacking his lips. The expansive movement caused him to sway on his barstool.

 

 

The door of the Railway Arms had long since been locked, but Nelson knew he didn’t need to worry about any police raids for after-hours drinking, not when most of Manchester’s finest were inside already, spending money like water in celebration of Gene’s promotion. Woolf immediately signalled for another refill whilst laughing loudly at some story that Ray was drunkenly telling. A few of the detectives who had wives and children to return home to had left, but in the main they were all still drinking and gambling.

 

 

It was almost one in the morning when Woolf threw his arm around Ray’s shoulders. “D…DC…Ray. Need you t’get Gene ‘ome….right? Need…t’make…sure…”

 

 

Ray nodded slowly as the disjointed words made it through the alcoholic haze. Get Gene home. Right. He tried to remember where Gene lived. Woolf nodded, almost headbutting Ray, then pushed himself away from the younger man, weaving toward Gene, who was slumped in a chair with half a whisky still sitting in front of him.

 

 

“Gene…Ray…go. Go with him,” Woolf slurred.

 

 

Gene looked around suddenly, but the room was spinning and he couldn’t tell who was talking to him.

 

 

It was another hour before Ray, with help from Nelson, pulled Gene to his feet and dragged him out into the street. Nelson watched as Ray staggered a little under Gene’s weight and the influence of most of a bottle of whisky and chuckled. He imagined that if any of the criminal fraternity could see the state of A Division now then they would rub their hands with glee and plan a crime spree for the morning.

 

 

 

“C’mon, Boss,” Ray said, trying to concentrate on keeping the two of them in a roughly straight line. “Get ya back to yer missus, not tha’ she’ll want you ‘n this state.”

 

 

Gene gripped onto Ray’s jacket tightly, staggering and almost falling over his own feet and into the road. Ray instinctively grabbed at Gene, one hand sliding across Gene’s chest. He couldn’t help but giggle as he tried to get Gene balanced again, whilst struggling to remain upright himself.

 

 

“Fuckin’ faggots,” a voice said loudly, close by.

 

 

Gene didn’t seem to notice, but Ray span around, seeing a young man staring at them both.

 

 

“What did you say?” His voice was hard, menacing, daring the kid to speak again.

 

 

“Fuckin’ faggots – poofters, you’re fuckin’ disgustin’,” the man spat at Ray.

 

 

Ray dumped Gene onto the nearest garden wall and turned, his fists clenched.

 

 

“Yeah? What you gonna do, poof?” He had barely finished his latest taunt before Ray was on him, punching him hard in the face, then falling to the ground with him, fists flying. The blows weren’t accurate, but Ray had enough power to make them count anyway.

 

 

 

Gene wondered why he’d stopped. Then swayed so violently he almost ended up in someone’s rose bushes. He looked around, wondering where Ray had disappeared to, before noticing the heap on the floor.

 

 

“Ray,” he mumbled. “Ray? Why…you ‘kay?” He pushed himself to his feet, trying to work out why Ray was on the floor. Maybe he was pissed, Gene decided, maybe he’d fallen over. Then he saw the man who was lying still on the floor as Ray pounded him with his fist.

 

 

“Shi…Ray, oi,” Gene grabbed Ray’s arm and dragged at it. “Ray, c’mon,” he succeeded in pulling Ray to his feet, stumbling as he did so.

 

 

Gene took one look at the unconscious man on the floor, then continued down the road, half using Ray for balance, half steering him. He knew they shouldn’t walk away, but he also knew they couldn’t be found there and his drunken reasoning meant he knew he’d be able to think more clearly once he wasn’t standing over some bloke that his DC had just beaten up.

 

 

***

 

 

He opened his eyes and immediately regretted it. The light was far too bright. Gene looked down at himself, realising he was still fully dressed, including his coat. Only his shoes had been removed.

 

 

He groaned, feeling like hell. His mouth was dry and his entire body ached. He slowly pushed himself up so he was sitting on the edge of the sofa, then rested his pounding head in his hands.

 

 

“Here,” a voice said. He looked up to see his wife offering him a glass of water that fizzed and bubbled from the tablet she’d obviously dropped in it.

 

 

“Ta, love,” he squinted up at her, then drank the water down in long gulps. He immediately regretted it when his stomach began to roil. “Jus’…gotta,” he lurched to his feet and headed for the stairs. The world was spinning around him, and he knew he was a long way from sober.

 

 

“I’ll make you breakfast. Don’t want to be late on your first day as a DI, do you?”

 

 

Gene made an inarticulate noise from somewhere in the bathroom.

 

 

He sat on the toilet, eyes closed, wishing the world would stop moving around him. He didn’t remember getting home the night before and wondered how he’d managed it. He certainly didn’t have a clue where his car was. He took deep breaths, trying to control the nausea, thinking about the night before.

 

 

Everyone had been buying him drinks, and he had no idea how much he’d put away in the end. He remembered playing darts with Ray…but that had been early in the evening. Then he had a vague recollection of Nelson trying to get him to stand up, but nothing else.

 

 

 

By the time he made it back downstairs, washed and changed, he was feeling a little better. He’d taken more painkillers from the bathroom cabinet in preparation for the day ahead. The smell of freshly cooked breakfast made his stomach growl, despite the rising feeling he got in his throat. He knew he should probably forgo the food, but now his missus had made it he felt like he should eat it. He sat down and tucked in, albeit more slowly than he normally would.

 

 

“You make sure an’ thank young Ray for seeing you home, won’t you, Gene?” his wife said.

 

 

Gene looked up. “Ray? ‘E brought me back?”

 

 

She nodded.

 

 

Gene grunted. “’Kay. Did he say anythin’?”

 

 

“I was in bed, I just heard him trying to make you stop singing in the street and then help you find your keys under the bedroom window. You should be setting an example to the likes of him, you know, not relying on him to be there to drag you home.”

 

 

“Oh. Didn’t mean to wake you, sorry.”

 

 

“I expected it. You should celebrate – I’m very proud of you. But you’ve gotta act like the DI you are now. There’s more responsibility an’ all, to go with the rank.”

 

 

Gene nodded, his mouth full. “Ray’s a good lad,” he said, still chewing. “He’s okay.”

 

 

“Still, he’s probably got his own girl to go home to, doesn’t need to be walkin’ you home.”

 

 

“Nah, ‘e ain’t got a girl. He’d ‘ave told me,” Gene took a huge bite out of one of the slices of toast in front of him. “Got any tea brewed?”

 

 

Tess got up and poured a fresh cup of tea from the pot. “Well hanging around with you lot in that pub of yours won’t get him out meeting a nice young lady will it?” she scolded.

 

 

“E’s ‘ad plenty o’ interest. He’s just bein’ choosy,” Gene replied, remembering that only a few weeks previously one of the witnesses to a robbery had been batting her eyelashes at DC Carling, and she’d been a lovely girl, in his opinion. He made a mental note to find out if Ray had done anything about her. They had her address on file, after all.

 

 

 

As he walked into town a few memories of the night before came back to Gene. He could just about recall Harry telling him that Ray was going to get him home safely. And he’d left the pub with Ray, he was sure, so they must have walked back to his place, and then Ray would have had to head back to the other side of town. Maybe Tess was right, he did need to thank his DC.

 

 

 

He climbed the steps to the station as other people arrived in dribs and drabs, the uniform officers all preparing for shift change. He headed for the CID office, his first thought to find a cup of coffee, his second to sit down and not move until the world had stopped swimming about around him. As he walked in to the CID office he saw Ray’s familiar figure already at the small table where they kept the kettle and tea things. He walked over and slapped Ray on the back, startling the younger man.

 

 

“Make us one – coffee, strong ‘n black,” he ordered. Then he leant against the wall. “Cheers for…whatever you did, walkin’ me home an’ all.”

 

 

Ray looked up and nodded. “Not a problem, Boss.”

 

 

Gene frowned. There was a dull bruise under Ray’s eye and his bottom lip was split. As Ray reached for the coffee jar Gene saw that his knuckles were also bruised. A memory fought its way to the surface, and he tried to grab onto it. He was watching, in the dark, and he could see Ray on the floor, fighting. He couldn’t for the life of him remember what had started it though…or how it had ended. He quickly glanced at his own hands, but they showed no signs of damage. Had he been so drunk that he’d left Ray to defend himself…or defend the both of them? Guilt surged over him.

 

 

“What…how come….what ‘appened?” Gene gestured to Ray’s face.

 

 

Ray stared at him for a long moment, then shook his head. “Nothin’, just…some drunk on me way back from yours. It’s nowt.”

 

 

Gene immediately narrowed his eyes, knowing that Ray was lying to him. He cursed himself for being too pissed to recall what had happened. Why would Ray keep something from him? There was no reason for it, unless it had been somehow his own fault. He and Ray had been in plenty of punch-ups before, even revelled in a couple of them. Then it dawned on him. Ray was covering for him because of his slightly fragile state of newly-promoted DI.

 

 

“Come with me,” Gene ordered, grabbing Ray by the arm and dragging him toward the door, causing Ray to slosh tea over the table and almost knock the milk bottle onto the floor.


	5. Chapter 5

Ray sighed, he should have known that Gene would remember. Not the cleverest thing to do – beat someone unconscious in front of your new DI.

 

 

They ended up in the toilets at the end of the corridor, Gene shoving each of the cubicle doors open to check they were alone before he turned to Ray.

 

 

“Just cos I’m bleedin’ DI, it don’t mean I’ve grown two heads. If there was trouble last night – and I know there was, I remember it, then you don’t have to protect me, y’know. We’re meant to be fuckin’ mates. I know I was too pissed to remember me own name last night, but I know I was there for the fight. What happened? He try it on? If so then I better thank you again for savin’ me from pickin’ my arse out the gutter this morning.”

 

 

Ray leant back against the sinks, wondering how on earth he’d got into such a mess. He decided all he could do was come clean and tell all the truth that he thought Gene should hear.

 

 

“It was on the way to yours. He was…shoutin’ and that, at us. Givin’ it some lip. I dunno…I s’pose I’d just…had a few too many, so I went for ‘im. Punched ‘im. I…I ain’t got an excuse. He probably di’n’t deserve…” Ray shook his head.

 

 

“What…what sorta state was he in? What happened?” Gene asked, wishing he could remember himself.

 

 

“He were…on the floor when you dragged me off. Dunno…didn’t see ‘im get up, but I checked this morning, and no one were called for it or nothin’, and he weren’t there when I walked back past.”

 

 

Gene squeezed his eyes closed, rubbing a hand over his face. He remembered Ray letting go of him, and seeing him fighting. He just needed…and then it came back to him, the man shouting from across the street. Shouting…about faggots and poofs. Because he’d been leaning on Ray…he remembered Ray’s hands all over him, holding him up. He opened his eyes and stared at Ray.

 

 

“Faggot,” he said, and Ray’s head shot up, a flash of anger in his eyes that Gene would have missed had he not been looking for it. “That’s what he said. And you…”

 

 

Ray wouldn’t look at him, and Gene could see now that he was embarrassed…or ashamed of his actions. He gave a slow nod.

 

 

“He called you a faggot so you thought you’d show him different?”

 

 

Ray took a deep breath, now looking up to the ceiling. “He called us a pair of faggots, an’…I was half cut. Yeah, I hit him – he wanted it, wanted the fight an’ I fell for it. If you hadn’t dragged me off…it weren’t like he didn’t know what he was getting’ into though,” Ray gestured to his own bruises.

 

 

Gene nodded slowly. He wouldn’t have had Ray pegged for the sort of man who particularly cared what others thought of him, but now he knew different. He also knew the other man hadn’t been fighting back when he dragged Ray away. He sighed and turned away, walking back down the corridor deep in thought.

 

 

***

 

 

Gene crept along, below the level of the wall, glancing behind to check that Ray was still there.

 

 

“These bastards ain’t gettin’ away,” Gene growled. “Get around the back…the only way they’ll be goin’ anywhere is across the roof, so I want you to get up there with a plod an’ stop em’.”

 

 

Ray nodded. “You know if there’s a way up?”

 

 

“You can climb up on the wall, try an’ make sure you ain’t seen, but we’ll be ready. You think you’ve been clocked then radio.”

 

 

Ray nodded. “Will do.”

 

 

“Right, take one of the boys an’ get going.”

 

 

Gene looked over the handful of uniformed officers. “You two, cover the back – they can’t get out cos of the fence, but just in case. You, go with DC Carling, the rest of you with me, through the front.”

 

 

Ray led the way to the back of the building, leaving the few coppers to stand watch over the large back fence. It was obviously designed to protect the scrotes inside the building, but it would serve just as well to stop them getting out.

 

 

Ray hauled himself up onto the wall of the next door property, waiting for a moment as he checked his companion was okay too, then he carefully balanced as he ducked down, moving as fast as he could toward the cover of the building. Once there it was a simple matter of clambering up the drainpipe and then jumping across the gap to the flat roof of the storage area at the back of their target address. There were skylights dotted around in the roof, and Ray made sure to steer clear of them, worried they might be seen.

 

 

“In position, Boss,” he radioed quietly. “Ready when you are.” 

 

 

He knew it meant a lot to Gene to get this right – his first big bust as a DI, so he was ready to stop anyone who might come their way. The bastards who were in the old workshop were making drugs - their dodgy product, cut with God knows what, had been flooding the city.

 

 

Ray heard the splintering wood as the front door caved in and tensed, ready. Sure enough one of the sash windows of the top floor was thrown open and a man tumbled out, followed by two more. Ray let the PC deal with the first man and went after the second - the one in the suit, carrying the briefcase.

 

 

He threw himself at the man, grabbing him and spinning him around. The bloke lost his footing, the briefcase flying out of his hand. Ray was up first though, and hurled himself back at the suspect. He hadn’t even registered just how close the skylight was until he was heading straight for it. The third man had obviously decided his life wouldn’t be worth living if he didn’t at least try to save his boss.

 

 

Ray tried to twist away, but his shoulder smashed through the glass, his head glancing off one of the thin steel bars and he plunged downwards in a shower of shards. The ground seemed miles away, but at the same time it came up far too quickly. He hit shoulders first, his neck cricking painfully but that minor discomfort was quickly replaced as pain flared through his leg. He covered his face with his arms as glass rained down on him, biting into his exposed flesh. Then things stopped falling and he dared to open his eyes, trying to push himself up to sitting. His thigh was a mass of pain so he glanced down, afraid of what he’d see. He wished he hadn’t looked. There was a rusty piece of metal – possibly part of a workbench – sticking out of his right thigh. Blood already soaked his trousers, the cloth slick and dark. The room was small and full of benches covered in scientific-looking equipment. The door was closed, although Ray could hear people outside it, fighting and shouting as the raid caused chaos.

 

 

He reached into his pocket and fumbled for his radio, resting his head back onto the floor.

 

 

“Eight six seven to Alpha One,” he called.

 

 

“Alpha One, go ahead Eight six seven,” came the fuzzy reply.

 

 

“Need an ambulance, to unit seven Collingham Street,” he shifted slightly and hissed as pain lanced through him. “Tell ‘em to hurry.”

 

 

“Will do, eight six seven,” came the reply.

 

 

 

Gene stopped slamming his suspect into the wall as he heard the radio message. He wondered what had gone wrong for Ray – he hoped that no one had done anything stupid. The last thing he needed was a suspect hospitalized – not that he cared about the bastards – they’d put enough kids in intensive care, but it didn’t look good in the papers and that meant Gene would get flak.

 

 

“Hold this,” he threw his man to a nearby constable, checking that no one else was getting away. He pulled his radio out and squeezed the button. “Ray? What’s goin’ on?”

 

 

Ray heard Gene’s message and took a deep breath, knowing he needed help.

 

 

“’M in a room, out the back…I…could do with some help,” he answered.

 

 

“Hang on.”

 

 

Gene glanced around, checking for more of the pushers and trying to work out where Ray might be. He was obviously okay really if he was able to use the radio, so Gene wasn’t too worried. Then he saw one door that was still shut. He tried the handle, but it was locked, so he kicked it in, looking around at the rows of tables. It was obviously the main room for making up the drugs. There were glass bottles and vials on the surfaces, along with other equipment. Gene stepped inside, thinking he had the wrong room at first, until he saw Ray on the floor at the far end of the benches.

 

 

“Shit…” he ran down the narrow aisle and dropped to his knees beside Ray.

 

 

“Yeah…” Ray tried to lift his head again, but the effort was too much.

 

 

Gene hesitated, then reached out, trying to assess the wound. He could see that the rusty metal was probably the only thing stopping Ray bleeding out, so he didn’t want to disturb it. It looked as if it would be easy enough to move Ray with the metal still inside him though, so at least they could transfer Ray to hospital where the professionals could remove it. He squeezed the button on his own radio.

 

 

“Get that ambulance here within two minutes, Phyllis, or there’ll be hell to pay,” he growled.

 

 

Ray closed his eyes, trying to breathe evenly and keep the bile down in his throat. There were things sticking into his back and a myriad of stinging cuts on his arms, but he knew he couldn’t move because of his leg. Even breathing sent shivers of pain through his thigh.

 

 

“Ray, Ray, don’t shut yer eyes, stay with me,” Gene said, squeezing Ray’s shoulder.

 

 

Ray blinked his eyes open, lids heavy. “Did we…get them?” he asked.

 

 

Gene nodded.

 

 

Ray smiled, then let his eyes roll back as darkness claimed him.

 

 

Gene shook him gently, but he couldn’t help thinking that Ray was probably better off out of it for when they moved him. He checked that Ray’s pulse was still steady and took off his coat, lifting Ray’s head carefully and cushioning it. He looked up to see a couple of plod staring in from the door.

 

 

“You two – get all those scrotes shipped back to the nick, then call the boffins to come and look at all this shite.”

 

 

***

 

 

Apart from Ray’s accident, the raid had gone well. But Gene didn’t wait around at the station for pats on the back, he headed straight back to the hospital as soon as he’d checked that everyone had been processed and charged. Woolf had been happy to let him go, glad that he cared enough about Ray to actually be worried.

 

 

 

Gene strode through the hospital towards the ward he’d been pointed to, more worried than he’d ever admit. He’d told Woolf that he just didn’t want to lose Ray and get stuck with some useless nonce, but he knew that Woolf had seen through the grumpy facade.

 

 

Finally he spotted Ray, propped up in a bed, looking pale but conscious.

 

 

“Raymondo!” he couldn’t keep the smile off his face.

 

 

Ray turned, a smile on his face. “Boss.”

 

 

“How’re you doin’ then? Chasin’ all the nurses?” Gene pointedly watched one of the young women walk past.

 

 

Ray just smiled.

 

 

“So they sorted you out? What’s the verdict?” Gene dropped into the chair next to the bed.

 

 

“Yeah, stitched me up. Reckon it’s mainly muscle damage, lucky it didn’t hit the bone.”

 

 

The nurse approached the bed, flicking her hair over her shoulder. “Ray’s still going to be sleepy from the anaesthetic,” she smiled at Gene. “So I’m going to have to ask you not to stay too long – he needs his rest.”

 

 

Gene nodded, smiling his most charming smile. “No worries, sweetcheeks.” Once she’d left Gene turned back to Ray. “Doing all right there, my son,” he grinned.

 

 

Ray nodded, but Gene could see his heart wasn’t really in it. He guessed Ray was still knackered, so shrugged it off.

 

 

“I’ll let you sleep then – come by tomorrow, after shift, if you want?”

 

 

Ray nodded.

 

 

“Get well then. Don’t do owt I wouldn’t do,” he winked. “Anything I can fetch for you?”

 

 

Ray nodded. “Key to me flat’s in my jacket. Can you fetch us some clothes…pyjamas, shaving kit – the usual?”

 

 

Gene nodded, pocketing the keys. “I’ll bring ‘em in tomorrow.”

 

 

Ray nodded his thanks, then closed his eyes and let sleep claim him again.

 

 

 

Gene headed to Ray’s flat, letting himself in and looking around. The flat was tiny – the front door opening directly into the main room, which held a sofa and a small table with one chair, on the bookshelf was stacked a collection of records, the television and very little else. A worktop against one wall held the cooking equipment and a sink with one plate and a couple of glasses on the draining board. Gene walked through into the bedroom, the bed was neatly made, and Gene searched through the chest of drawers for the things Ray had asked for. The flat was bare, and everything was tidy. It wasn’t what Gene had expected, somehow. It barely looked like anyone lived there at all, with no personal possessions on show – but then, Gene supposed, between the time spent at the station and the evenings in the Railway Arms, Ray barely did see the place. He stepped into the tiny bathroom and picked up Ray’s razor and shaving soap, throwing everything into a bag that he’d found under the bed. After a last glance around Gene locked the door behind him and headed back down the stairs to the car.

 

 

 

 

The next day was quiet, and Gene hadn’t realised how he’d come to rely on Ray until he suddenly had to do without him. Gone was the easy communication, the silly banter that had always made the day go by faster. He found himself turning to ask Ray questions for paperwork before realising that the younger man wasn’t there, he automatically made two cups of tea when he got up and when he grabbed his coat to go to the pub that evening he stopped dead in his tracks.

 

 

Instead of driving to the pub he headed to the hospital again, hoping Ray realised what sacrifice he was making just to spend a few hours sitting by his bedside.

 

 

He strode through the corridors to the ward and noticed that the curtains were drawn around Ray’s bed. He grabbed a nurse on her way past.

 

 

“Carling – Ray Carling, can I see him?”

 

 

The nurse glanced over, then nodded. “I’ll take you in.”

 

 

Gene frowned, then followed the nurse as she twitched the curtain aside.

 

 

Ray looked worse than he had the day before – his skin was pale and he was covered in a sheen of sweat.

 

 

“What’s ‘appened to him?” Gene barked. “He were fine yesterday.”

 

 

“It’s an infection, because the wound was so dirty. He’s on antibiotics, but he’s very feverish. I’m sure he’d appreciate you sitting with him though.”

 

 

Gene nodded, unprepared for how concerned he found he was. He took the seat that the nurse gestured to, nervously looking at the drip that was now attached to Ray’s hand.

 

 

“Ray? Mate? ‘S me, it’s Gene.”


	6. Chapter 6

“He’s been in and out a bit today – it’s just the fever. We’re sure it will break soon. Just talk to him, let him know you’re here,” the nurse said softly.

 

 

“I thought you sorted everything yesterday – he was getting’ better,” Gene said.

 

 

The nurse just smiled. “He’ll be fine, sir,” she reassured.

 

 

Gene turned back to Ray, not knowing what to say.

 

 

The nurse picked up a flannel from a small bowl of water and gently washed Ray’s face, wiping away the beads of sweat, then she left, closing the curtains behind her.

 

 

“What’re you doing then, mate?” Gene said softly. He hesitated, then reached out and put his hand on Ray’s forearm. “Keepin’ me from the pub, you are. I expected a conversation at least.”

 

 

Ray’s skin was hot under his own, and he could feel the slight tremor of the fever.

 

 

 

Ray just about registered that someone was with him. He felt the cool of the flannel as it dragged across his skin. He wanted to say he was hot, but he couldn’t make the words come out. He couldn’t remember where he was or why he was there, he just knew it was hot and his leg hurt. And someone was holding him, touching him.

 

 

There was only one person who it could be.

 

 

“Pete?” He wasn’t even sure he had the energy to make a sound.

 

 

Gene leaned in, trying to hear what Ray was saying.

 

 

“What?”

 

 

Ray tried to grip the hand that held him. “Pete…wha’…’appened?” he whispered, and even that took too much energy, the suffocating heat that pressed down on his from all sides sapped him.

 

 

Gene frowned. “It’s Gene, not Pete- whoever the hell he is.” He noticed Ray’s fingers moving, reaching for something, so he moved his own hand down and took Ray’s.

 

 

Ray stilled for a moment. The voice – whoever that was – wasn’t Pete. But he knew Pete was holding his hand, so he focussed on that, tangling his fingers with the hand.

 

 

Gene frowned as his fingers were squeezed.

 

 

“You got a fever, Ray, you’re not makin’ any sense,” he said nervously.

 

 

Ray frowned. The voice wasn’t Pete, but seemed to know him. He thought he recognised it, but couldn’t remember anything. He just knew the sweltering heat of the jungle was inescapable.

 

 

 

Gene guessed that Ray had fallen asleep – although it was hard to tell, he was restless and sweat was running off him. Gene reached for the flannel and dipped it in the bowl of water, wringing it out before copying the nurse’s earlier actions and wiping Ray’s face. He felt oddly protective over Ray, and when he’d told his wife the night before of the accident, she’d seemed very concerned too. It was as if Ray were like a little brother and as such, he wanted to help and care for him. He felt Ray shivering, but his skin was red hot, so he didn’t pull the blankets up.

 

 

 

Ray could hear the relentless rain falling and it brought with it relief from the stifling heat. His skin was cold now, in the night. He tried to listen, he couldn’t even remember what they were doing now – were they chasing, or being chased. He looked around for Pete, but the dark was all encompassing. He tried to wrap his arms around himself, to get some heat back into his body.

 

 

“Pete,” he called, his voice low. “Where are you?”

 

 

He didn’t mind the dark, but the fear of losing his lover to the jungle was great. There was no way they’d find each other until it was light again and they both got back to the plantation. And if he couldn’t remember what they were meant to be doing what hope did he have?

 

 

 

Gene heard Ray’s call, the sound making him look up again.

 

 

“’S all right, Ray,” he reassured, reaching out and putting a hand on Ray’s shoulder. “You’re in hospital, remember?” he said.

 

 

Ray froze at the touch, then turned his head slightly. “Pe..?” he couldn’t even summon the energy to really form the word.

 

 

Gene didn’t argue. He just sat with Ray for as long as he could. He didn’t know if his friend was dreaming or hallucinating, but it made Gene feel very uncomfortable.

 

 

 

When he finally left the hospital it was unwillingly. He drove home, for once walking through the front door at a reasonable time of night and without a drop of drink in him – or at least, only a hip-flask full, which didn’t count.

 

 

“How’s Ray?” was the first thing his wife asked.

 

 

Gene shrugged. “Taken a bad turn – got a fever, from ‘is leg. They reckon he’ll be okay though, in a few days.”

 

 

“Oh, the poor man. Is that where you’ve been?”

 

 

Gene nodded. “He’s out of it, mainly, talkin’ on about…God knows. Kept calling me ‘Pete’ or summat.”

 

 

“Must be someone he knows – a friend maybe?”

 

 

“He’s never mentioned anyone,” Gene answered.

 

 

“Well maybe someone he used to know – if he’s confused. Fevers can make people believe all sorts. He might think he’s in his favourite film for all you know, poor thing.”

 

 

Gene grunted. Ray hadn’t once said his name, and somehow, when he was the one making the effort to visit, that hurt a little.

 

 

 

The next day Gene headed back to see Ray again, having spent most of the day worrying and very little of it doing any real work. He wished he’d prepared for the raid better – taken more men, known the plan of the building. A small part of him – and one which he refused to acknowledge – was scared that Ray would die.

 

 

His condition hadn’t changed, and Gene spent an hour sitting by the bedside, mopping Ray’s brow and talking to him about the day. Ray was quieter today, and Gene didn’t know if it was a good thing or not.

 

 

In the end, despite wanting to stay with Ray he felt so useless he left, heading to the pub instead. He didn’t like to see people he cared for suffer when he couldn’t do anything about it. He’d already given the man who’d fought Ray on the roof a kicking, despite it being a hollow victory because he knew deep down the bloke wasn’t entirely to blame.

 

 

 

Ray awoke in the darkness, and he could feel sweat pooled on his body. He tried to move and pain lanced through his leg. He finally managed to reach for the bedside table, wanting a drink and he felt the pull of the drip in the back of his hand. He knew he was in hospital, and he could remember why his leg hurt, but apart from that everything was a blur. He had a headache and felt shaky and weak – as if he’d run a marathon, his muscles were jelly. Once he’d finished the glass of water he used the sheet to rub over his skin, hating the feel of the sweat. He desperately wanted a shower or a wash, but knew he couldn’t move off the bed. His leg still throbbed with pain, and his joints ached. He lay back on the bed, sure he wasn’t going to sleep.

 

 

He was woken by the nurse he knew from the first night, and she smiled when she saw his eyes were open and had lost the brightness of fever.

 

 

“How are you feeling?” she asked.

 

 

Ray nodded. “Better. ‘Ow long’ve…I been here?”

 

 

“Three days now,” she pulled the blanket straight. “Your friend visited every day. Now, is there anything I can get you? Breakfast will be around shortly, if you feel like eating yet?”

 

 

Ray nodded, realising he was ravenous. “Could I have a bath – or a shower? Anything?”

 

 

“Of course, if you can wait until after breakfast?”

 

 

Ray nodded.

 

 

 

The bed bath was a far cry from what Ray really wanted, but it left him feeling clean, and they changed the sheets for him, ridding him of the sweat stained ones, so once they were done he felt a million times better. He was even allowed out of bed, on crutches, for a small portion of the day. He tired quickly though, and was back in bed, asleep, when Gene came calling.

 

 

Gene grabbed the nurse as she walked past and nodded at Ray’s sleeping form. “How is he?” he asked.

 

 

“Oh, Ray’s much better today,” the nurse smiled. “He’s even been up and about for an hour or so – the fever broke last night.”

 

 

Gene couldn’t help but smile, glancing back at Ray’s still form, hoping his friend was getting some proper rest finally.

 

 

“Always find that the forces boys fight back quicker than the rest,” the nurse smiled.

 

 

Gene nodded, then frowned. “He’s a copper, not army.”

 

 

“Well ex-forces then. He was in the navy, wasn’t he?”

 

 

Gene shook his head. “Nah, worked on boats, but he wasn’t enlisted.”

 

 

The nurse frowned. “His tattoos though…he’s got the badge from the HMS Newfoundland on his shoulder.” At Gene’s quizzical look she smiled again. “My father was in the navy, my brother and I would spend hours looking at all the badges and medals, in books. I wouldn’t forget that one, it was one of my favourites, with the caribou on it.”

 

 

Gene looked at Ray’s sleeping form, the tattoo on his left bicep was clearly visible, two mermaids, entwined around each other and an anchor with a background of crashing waves, on his chest were two swallows, one swooping over each pectoral muscle. Nothing that every other sailor in the world probably didn’t have too. Just like plenty would have the name or badge of their ship. He shook his head, nodding his thanks to the nurse and taking up his customary seat by Ray’s bed. He was pleased to see Ray had some colour back, and was breathing evenly.

 

 

When Ray awoke it took him a moment to register Gene’s presence.

 

 

“Boss?” he said, his voice croaky.

 

 

“Raymondo! Feelin’ better then?” Gene leant forward.

 

 

Ray nodded. “Much. They said you been in every night…I don’t remember…but…thanks.”

 

 

Gene waved a hand. “You were pretty bad for a while. Had us worried, you bastard.”

 

 

Ray pushed himself a little more upright, pulling a face at the pain. “Worried cos I still owe you for that last game of cards?” he smiled.

 

 

Gene laughed. “Yeah, that’s right.”

 

 

“Doc said I should be out tomorrow or the day after,” Ray said, and Gene could see how eager he was to escape the ward.

 

 

“Good. I’m ‘aving to do all your sodding work at the moment.”

 

 

Ray grinned. “Do you good, remembering how paper-work goes. I’ve done yours for as long as I’ve been ‘ere.”

 

 

“Bloody liar!” Gene said, then he frowned, remembering what the nurse had said. “So, that lovely bit of stuff been taking care of you?” he gestured to her.

 

 

Ray glanced over. “Yeah.”

 

 

“Bed bath an’ all that, eh?” Gene nudged Ray’s arm.

 

 

Ray felt his cheeks colour slightly, and knew that Gene would notice. “She’s a nice girl.”

 

 

“And the rest,” Gene watched her walk past again. “She was admirin’ your scrawny body when I got ‘ere,” he said, wondering how to bring up what the nurse had said.

 

 

Ray shook his head. “You live in a fantasy land, you do.”

 

 

“She was on about your tattoos. Says she recognised some of ‘em.”

 

 

Ray self-consciously ran his hand over the picture closest to Gene. “Yeah, well, pretty common, ain’t they? You know many sailors without?”

 

 

Gene shrugged. “Don’t know many sailors. She does though. Said one of yours was off a ship she knew.” Gene noticed the way Ray’s eyes flicked onto him, then away. “The Newfoundland, she said.”

 

 

Ray didn’t move for a few long moments. “Oh aye,” he finally said, not meeting Gene’s gaze.

 

 

“Yeah. Odd that, don’t you think? Out of all the hundreds of ships around the world, and she knows the one you’ve got drawn on you.”

 

 

Ray gave a shrug. “Yeah, what’re the chances?” he gave a small smile. He had a horrible feeling that Gene was trying to lay a trap for him.

 

 

“Thing is, she didn’t say it was a merchant ship. She said it were the HMS Newfoundland. Her old man was in the Navy, see, and she used to read up on all that stuff. Natural interest, I s’pose.”

 

 

Ray wrapped the end of the blanket around one of his fingers, then freed it again.

 

 

“Yeah. I s’pose.” He looked across to Gene. “I were on the Newfie, since you seem so interested.”

 

 

“Why all the bull about bein’ on merchant ships then?” Gene asked, his voice hard. “Seems like every time we meet you’ve got a new story – am I ever going to find out the truth?”

 

 

“Does it matter?” Ray asked, trying to keep his voice low. “I’m ‘ere, ain’t I? I’m a good copper – what else d’you need t’know?”

 

 

“Be nice if I could trust you, though, wouldn’t it? Be nice if I knew who I was workin’ with, who I was trusting with my life? So what is it…Rob? Ray? You been in the Navy or what? And while we’re at it, who the fuck is Pete?”

 

 

Ray had taken a deep breath to answer the onslaught of questions, but at the last one he let the air out of his lungs as if he’d been punched.


	7. Chapter 7

“How…d’you know about Pete?” Ray asked, and Gene swore he saw the colour drain from his face.

 

 

“I don’t – just know you kept thinkin’ I was him when you were ga-ga the last few days. So who is he?”

 

 

Ray looked away, trying to gather himself. “I…it is Ray, that’s me real name. Like I said, Rob, he were my brother. After…when you collared me, an’ I said I got a job on the boats, I’d joined up. Did my trainin’, served on a couple of ships, then got posted to the Newfie. ‘Cept, I was too young. So I joined up as Rob. No one ever questioned it – I ‘ad his papers an’ everything, see, an’ I looked old enough. Pete was…he was…my best friend, on the boat. We…it were in ’56, we were back off Malaya, pounding them with the guns. I’d…we jumped ship. Me an’ Pete, swam ashore. Spent nearly two years over there, workin’ for one of the plantations, lookin’ after the place. Owner didn’t ask any questions, we didn’t tell him owt, although he must’ve guessed. He knew me as Ray, so even if he’d’ve looked, weren’t like anyone would’ve known. Had to change back, cos Rob Carling’s still on the deserters list. Made up the rest. No one really asked when I joined up here – how could they check it anyway? Malaya’s a mess. The Captain of the ship I worked on t’get back ‘ere vouched for me bein’ a sailor.” He paused, then looked at Gene. “You can’t tell anyone – you ‘ave to promise you won’t tell anyone. They could still make me serve the rest of my time, if they found out, throw me in clink too. That’s the truth – all of it.”

 

 

Gene nodded, leaning back in his chair and letting out a low whistle. “So where’s Pete now then? The two of you come back ‘ere together?”

 

 

Ray felt as if he’d been punched, his chest ached at the memories. It took him a moment before he trusted himself to answer.

 

 

“No. He…died, in Malaya. ‘S why I came back.”

 

 

Gene could see in Ray’s expression that the memory was not one he welcomed, so he didn’t push it. “Sorry,” he murmured.

 

 

Ray swallowed, determined to keep his composure. “Was a long time ago,” he managed in the end, even though it felt like yesterday.

 

 

Gene nodded, but he could see what the memory was doing to his friend. He decided he’d try to steer the conversation back to a happier topic.

 

 

“So…you seen the world, then?” he finally asked.

 

 

Ray nodded. “Yeah, some of it. Far East, mainly. Australia, Africa…”

 

 

“An’ how does Manchester compare?” Gene smiled.

 

 

Ray gave a quick grin. “It’s ‘ome.”

 

 

Gene felt a small pang of jealousy – he’d had plenty of friends who had joined up instead of just going through National Service as he had. They had seen the world, travelled, experienced different cultures. And all that time Gene had been in Manchester, cleaning the streets he’d grown up on of the scum that littered them. There had been times when he’d regretted his choices, but he had a career, a wife, a house – all the things that his friends had chosen to give up. Manchester was as much a part of Gene as he was of Manchester, and he knew, deep down, that’s how it should be.

 

 

 

That night Ray lay in the uncomfortable hospital bed, memories assaulting him. He let the tears that he’d buried earlier in the day come, overflowing from his eyes and soaking into the pillow beneath his cheek. He could remember the rain pounding down through the jungle, obliterating every other sound. The dark was impenetrable, and they’d given up any real hope of finding the raiders they had been after hours before. Ray had knelt on the sodden earth, shielding the torchlight as best he could, looking at the compass, trying to wipe the water out of his eyes.

 

 

The gunfire had been barely audible, the bullets ripping through the foliage almost drowned out by the storm. But Pete had crashed to the ground, gasping and clutching his chest. Ray had dropped everything, scooting over to him, pulling at the soaked cloth to find out where Pete had been hit. The blood had been hot on his hands, and there was far too much of it. Ray had known immediately that Pete was going to die, but he hadn’t given up. He’d held onto Pete as tightly as he could, telling him he’d be okay, kissing him, repeating how much he loved him over and over, ignoring Pete telling him to go, to leave him.

 

 

He’d held his hands onto the wound until the blood had stopped pumping out, and then he’d cradled Pete in his arms, refusing to let go until another burst of machine gun fire had wrenched him back to reality. He’d lifted Pete’s body onto his shoulders and staggered through the foliage until he’d literally been on his knees. He knew his only chance was to leave Pete’s body behind, so he’d laid him down, off the path, dragging leaves and branches over him and said a prayer as he knelt over the body. Then he’d been forced to leave him to the jungle and the predators, whether they were animal or human.

 

 

Ray had never forgiven himself for abandoning Pete, he felt as if he had betrayed the man he loved – both by persuading him to jump ship in the first place and then leaving him in the jungle, without even a proper burial. The price Pete had paid had been far too high for the short time they had had together. He’d gone back, as soon as he could, and tried to find the spot he’d left Pete in. But there had been no sign of the body, and Ray couldn’t even be sure he was looking in the right place. So finally he’d given up, and eventually decided he no longer wanted to stay in a place with such terrible memories. So he had left the rubber plantation and found a captain who was heading back to Europe willing to take him on as crew. When he had finally reached Liverpool he had sent a short anonymous letter to Pete’s family, explaining his death with as few details as possible. He knew the news would devastate them, but he also figured it was the least he could do, in the circumstances.

 

 

 

He wiped his tears on the blanket, biting down on his lip as he tried to steady his breathing. He hadn’t cried over Pete for years, but Gene had forced him to remember a lot of things, and his current situation made him wish for the comfort and warmth of someone who loved him.

 

 

When he had been younger he would never have believed you could love anyone enough for it to hurt.

 

 

***

 

 

Gene held the door of the car open and watched as Ray awkwardly climbed in and stowed his crutches. He couldn’t help but smile at the thought of having Ray back at work – the past days had been boring and frustrating, as Woolf had saddled him with various people to work with. He knew Ray wouldn’t be running around the streets or making himself useful in the interview room for a while yet, but just having him around would be welcome.

 

 

“Pub?” Gene asked as he climbed into the driver’s seat.

 

 

Ray smiled. “You buyin’?”

 

 

Gene snorted, but stood on the accelerator anyway, making it to the Railway Arms in record time. He even held the door open for Ray to enter first.

 

 

Ray was bombarded with offers of drinks and happily accepted them, sitting in the corner, leg up on the settle. After he’d sunk a few pints he felt considerably better, and Gene leant close to him. “Don’t get too far gone – the missus says you’re to come back to mine tonight, for some dinner.”

 

 

Ray raised his eyebrows. “You don’ ‘ave to do that, Boss.”

 

 

Gene shrugged. “She’s worried ‘bout you. ‘Sides you ain’t got any food at your place. It’ll make ‘er happy.”

 

 

Ray nodded. “Thanks, Boss.” He slowed his alcohol intake considerably, not wanting to disgrace himself in front of Gene’s wife and was ready when Gene shrugged his coat on.

 

 

Ray swung himself out to the car on his crutches, looking across at Gene. “You really don’t have to do this, Boss,” he reiterated.

 

 

“It’ll make the missus happy – you know what women are like, fussin’ and all. She’s been worried ‘bout you.”

 

 

“I don’t even know her,” Ray protested.

 

 

Gene shrugged as if he didn’t know why his wife was so concerned either, not mentioning how worried he’d been himself.

 

 

 

Ray nodded his thanks as Gene held his front door open and made his way inside, smiling as a pretty woman stuck her head around one of the door further up the hallway.

 

 

“Tess, Ray – Ray, my wife, Theresa,” Gene introduced.

 

 

“Tess, please,” she stepped forward and kissed Ray on the cheek before he could free his hand from his crutches to offer to her. “Come in, sit down – you poor thing. Gene said you’re getting better though?”

 

 

“Yeah – I mean, yes, thank you. ‘S very kind of you, askin’ me ‘round.”

 

 

“Nonsense – you’ll no doubt need a good meal, the food in hospitals these days isn’t enough for you men, I’m sure.”

 

 

Ray smiled as Tess ushered him to one of the seats at the table.

 

 

“Now what can I get for you? Dinner’s in and cooking – some nice lamb, I’ve done.”

 

 

“Another beer, Raymondo?” Gene asked, already heading for the fridge.

 

 

“Uh…yeah, thanks Boss,” Ray stretched out his leg, grimacing with pain. He was surprised at just how tired an afternoon in the pub could make him.

 

 

“So when are you going back to work, Ray?” Tess called.

 

 

“Tomorrow,” Ray answered. “No point in sittin’ at home.”

 

 

Tess frowned. “Is that my Gene, forcing you to go back before your ready?” she shot a look at Gene. “Is it?”

 

 

Gene put on the most innocent expression he could muster. “No, he wants to be back – misses me, no doubt,” he smiled smugly.

 

 

“Just know you’ll be leavin’ all the reports to me – may as well do ‘em now, when I can’t do owt else.”

 

 

“Is there not some young lady who’s looking forward to having a bit of time with you?” Tess asked.

 

 

“No, there’s not,” Ray answered.

 

 

“Could be though – that nurse, what was her name? Louise? Gave you her number, didn’t she?” Gene chipped in.

 

 

Ray felt himself blush a little. He did indeed have a scrap of paper in his pocket with the girl’s number on it. Not that he had any intention of using it.

 

 

“Oh yes?” Tess smiled widely. “I always think nurses and policemen make good couples – you’d both understand all about the long hours, eh?”

 

 

Ray nodded and quickly tried to steer the conversation away from his love-life.


	8. Chapter 8

1967

 

 

Ray stood in the middle of the room, grimacing. There was blood everywhere, and the mangled body of a man lying near one of the windows. At a guess Ray would say he’d been beaten to death, but without moving the body he was well aware there could be other wounds hidden too. He picked his way through the blood smears and crouched down by the body, pressing two fingers into the man’s neck. The skin was cold, and he didn’t try too hard to find a pulse, knowing it was futile. He turned around to the young constable who was still standing by the door, eyes wide.

 

 

“Yeah, he’s dead,” he said, wiping his fingers on the man’s clothing.

 

 

The young copper turned and left the building, hand clamped over his mouth. Ray followed, standing back until the man had thrown up his breakfast, then pulled his cigarettes out of his pocket and tapped the box, offering one to the constable, who was white as a ghost.

 

 

“So you just noticed the door an’ thought you should check it out, did you?” Ray asked, lighting the cigarette that was now held in the man’s shaking hand.

 

 

He nodded. “It weren’t open yesterday – or…I di’n’t notice it. An’…people sleep rough…so…” he swallowed hard.

 

 

“Yeah, reckon he were homeless. Ain’t dressed in work gear, anyway.” Ray lit his own cigarette. “All right now?”

 

 

The man nodded.

 

 

“Wha’s your name?”

 

 

“PC Skelton, sir. Chris Skelton.”

 

 

Ray nodded. “New?”

 

 

“Been a constable for…almost a year,” Chris answered, looking shy. “You’re…DC Carling, aren’t you?”

 

 

Ray nodded, glad that his reputation had permeated even the plod. “First dead body?” he asked.

 

 

Chris nodded, looking ashamed. “First what’s all…murdered, like.”

 

 

“Don’t worry, the first’s the worst,” Ray said.

 

 

Chris eyes opened wide. “I don’t want there to be a second!” he said seriously.

 

 

Ray smiled, noticing that Chris’s eyes didn’t match – one green and one blue. “Ain’t your choice, mate,” he said, laughing. “We don’t pick an’ choose where they turn up.”

 

 

Chris didn’t look like he thought Ray was helping.

 

 

Ray pulled out his hip flask and took a swig, then offered it to Chris. “I threw up too, my first,” he confided.

 

 

“Really?” Chris took a sip from the flask and coughed immediately as the whisky joined the bile that was already burning in his throat.

 

 

Ray nodded. He hadn’t, but that didn’t matter – what mattered was that Chris was now looking less like a startled rabbit and more like a confident young copper.

 

 

“You should probably get yourself back to the station when the others get ‘ere,” Ray said. “We’ll need you to write down what ‘appened an’ all.”

 

 

Chris nodded. Then he glanced back in through the window he was standing by. “Will you…be the one what looks for the murderer?”

 

 

Ray shrugged and took a long drag on his cigarette. “Maybe.”

 

 

“I don’t like…thinkin’ that someone who can do that…can jus’ be walkin’ about, with the rest of us.”

 

 

“He won’t be, not for long,” Ray said with a touch of bravado.

 

 

***

 

 

It was a couple of days later that Ray next saw Chris, sitting on his own in the canteen. Ray had only intended to grab something and head back to his desk, but he hesitated, then walked over to Chris.

 

 

“Mind if I join you?”

 

 

Chris jumped and looked up. “Oh, no,” he smiled.

 

 

“Cheers for the report…it were very…thorough,” Ray said, for lack of anything better.

 

 

Chris gave a small self-conscious smile. “I did me best.”

 

 

Ray nodded, not really knowing what else to say. He watched as Chris pushed his fringe out of his eyes and carried on eating, and Ray guessed his refs were only half an hour. He glanced around and saw a few other people were looking over at them – it was rare for CID and uniform to mix. One girl queuing up to get her food seemed to be paying them a bit more attention than most. One of the other lads had been talking about her the other day, well, about her tits, anyway. He couldn’t remember the name though.

 

 

“Seem to be gettin’ a lot of attention from that plonk,” he said.

 

 

Chris looked up. “Oh – I said I’d ‘ave me lunch with ‘er, like,” Chris answered, looking slightly embarrassed.

 

 

Ray felt a small, stupid, pang of jealousy. “I won’t stand in yer way if yer onto a good thing then,” he said, gathering up his cigarettes, sandwich and mug of tea.

 

 

“Oh, it’s not like that,” Chris flushed pink. “Annie’s…I mean, WPC Cartwright just…she’s new, see, an’ Sergeant Dobbs said I should show ‘er round and that.”

 

 

“Well…I’ll let you get on,” Ray said, standing up.

 

 

Chris hurriedly swallowed his mouthful and nodded. “Yeah, Sir.”

 

 

“An’, Chris…I’m only a DC. You don’t ‘ave to call me sir. ‘S Ray, right?”

 

 

 

Over the next weeks and months Ray found that he noticed Chris around – when he was in the canteen, or the custody area or heading out to his beat. There was something about the man that just captivated him.

 

 

He was sorting out some files one day and happened to glance out of the window, noticing Chris was in the car park playing football, his shirt sleeves rolled up, with other PCs. Ray looked at his watch and saw it was half an hour before their shift would start. He lit a cigarette, leaning on the drawer of the filing cabinet, transfixed by the men below. He watched as the game turned into something more akin to a wrestling match as Chris tried to defend the ball, grabbing onto one of his friends and trying to push him away. He could feel jealousy building inside him, so he turned away, pushing his hand through his hair, knowing that his infatuation with the younger man had to stop – he was just frustrating himself. They were coppers, and what he wanted to do with Chris wasn’t even legal.

 

 

He tried to wipe Chris from his mind, tried to ignore him at the station, got drunk enough most nights that he could sleep a dreamless sleep. But there were still dark nights, alone in his bed, when Ray found his hand wrapping around his cock and Chris appearing in his fantasies.

 

 

***

 

 

Gene looked around the van, all the faces looking back at him were wide eyed, ready and waiting.

 

 

“Right, first priority, stop anyone leavin’, however you need to. Once we’ve rounded ‘em up then we can start searching the crates – we know they’ve got knock off stuff in there. Okay?”

 

 

Ray nodded, hefting the baton he was holding. He was keeping his gaze firmly fixed on Gene, because he knew a few places back Chris was sitting, earnestly listening to every word. The raid had been carefully planned, but they knew there would be a number of people in the warehouse, and the chances of them being armed were high. The gang had been responsible for any number of raids on various warehouses across the city, always violent, always expensive goods. Ray touched his jacket, feeling the reassuring weight of his pistol inside. He was looking forward to the fight.

 

 

 

On the signal they all bundled out of the van, spilling out across the street. Two PCs with sledgehammers made short work of the wooden doors, and then they were inside. The other team were making rapid progress on the back door and the gang were panicking. Ray picked a target and ran for the man, baton over his shoulder ready to strike. The fight was dirty, and Ray was well aware that he had to watch his back as well as his opponent. He finally got the man on the floor after a hard blow to the back of the knees, but as he bent over to handcuff him he saw something out of the corner of his eye and flinched away. A punch smacked into his face, the blow glancing off him. He staggered, his nose exploding in pain, and turned on his attacker, driving into him with his shoulder. Then someone else came to help, throwing the man to the floor. Ray turned back to his first collar, snapping the handcuffs onto his wrists and half noticing the blood that was dripping down onto the man. He saw that it was Chris – now minus his helmet – who had his knee in the other man’s back and was pulling his hands behind him, cuffing them tightly. Ray also saw the glinting brass knuckles the man was wearing. He swiped at his face, hissing as the cuts stung at his touch, not wanting to know any more about the damage.

 

 

He squeezed Chris’s shoulder, “Thanks, mate.” Then threw himself back into the fray, leaving the two men on the floor in Chris’s care.

 

 

 

Once everyone was rounded up and the prisoners were all secured in the backs of the vans, everyone began assessing the damage to themselves. There were plenty of bloody noses, black eyes and bruised fists, but the mood was jubilant. Ray helped search some of the room before realising that the world was beginning to spin slightly. He rested back against the wall, holding his handkerchief against his face. He had a sneaking suspicion that he should probably get someone to check him over, but he didn’t say anything.

 

 

“Raymondo, you okay?” Gene asked, seeing the blood-soaked cloth held up to his friend’s face.

 

 

“Yeah, Boss. Just need a minute.”

 

 

Gene pulled Ray’s hand away from his face, looking at the two cuts – one on Ray’s eyebrow and then the continuation across the bridge of his nose.

 

 

“Oi, you,” Gene grabbed one of the PCs. “Grab a car, run him up to the hospital. Right?”

 

 

Chris nodded. “Yes, Sir.”

 

 

Ray almost groaned. “’M fine, Boss. I’ll get back to the station an’ sort it out.”

 

 

“Looks like you need a couple of stitches. Don’t argue.”

 

 

“Um…do you want to…” Chris gestured nervously toward the door.

 

 

Ray knew he didn’t have a choice, so led the way outside and waited until Chris appeared, dangling the keys to one of the panda cars on his finger.

 

 

“Get you fixed up then, shall we, sir?” he asked, trying to be friendly.

 

 

Ray just grunted, cursing the fate that had thrown him together with Chris again.

 

 

Once at the hospital Ray knew it wasn’t really necessary for Chris to guide him by holding onto his arm, but somehow he couldn’t shake off the hand. And when Chris explained to the nurse what had happened he could have told Chris to get back to work and explained himself, but he didn’t. He definitely didn’t need Chris leaning up against the wall talking to him as he sat on the edge of the bed waiting for the doctor, but he didn’t say anything.

 

 

 

Chris grimaced as the four stitches were put in above Ray’s eyebrow, watching as the needle punctured the skin and pulled through, pinching the edges of the cut together. He knew Ray was lucky – the blow had only glanced off his face instead of catching him full on. The knuckle dusters splitting the skin instead of smashing into the bone. He had felt the anger explode inside him at the thought of someone hurting Ray and had punched the man a few more times than needed, then landed his knee in the man’s back hard before handcuffing him. He didn’t know quite why it had bothered him so much – but Ray had been one of the few people who’d been kind to him, despite the fact he was new and still got things wrong. Most of CID didn’t have any time for uniform at all, so Chris was proud that Ray – one of the best coppers in the station - had even noticed him.

 

 

***

 

 

Once Ray was at home he spent part of the evening soaking his shirt in a basin of cold water, trying to remove the bloodstains. He wished there was a way he could remove the image of Chris, tie removed and top shirt buttons undone, leaning on the wall at the hospital, fringe falling in front of his mismatched eyes, from his mind. But there wasn’t, and when he closed his eyes that night Chris still wouldn’t go away. Instead he shrugged out of his uniform jacket, undid a few more buttons on his shirt and walked toward Ray. When he took his shirt off he revealed a slim body, creamy skin that begged to be kissed, and when he straddled Ray’s hips the pressure on Ray’s cock was exquisite.

 

 

 

 

1968

 

 

The party spilled out of CID when every bottle of whisky had been drunk – even the extra ones that Woolf had bought in especially for the occasion. Ray supported Gene as they staggered toward The Railway Arms, everyone was in high spirits, with every reason to celebrate – a promotion, a tough case cracked and Gallagher’s wife had given birth to a baby girl the night before.

 

 

As they crashed into the pub Ray abandoned Gene and staggered to the bar, leaning on it heavily. “Nelson! Make sure everyone’s got a drink – first round’s my shout, right?”

 

 

Nelson smiled widely and nodded. “Sure thing, Mr ‘Unt.”

 

 

Once everyone had a drink in their hand Ray shouted for quiet, then raised his pint glass high in the air. “To scum off the streets, to Bernie’s missus and little one…and to our new Guv’nor!”

 

 

The cheer that went up was deafening and beer cascaded out of glasses as they were held aloft.

 

 

Ray sank down next to Gene on one of the long settles and lifted his glass, knocking it against Gene’s. “You did well, Guv,” he grinned.

 

 

Gene smiled back. “Goin’ to take some getting’ used to…every time someone calls me ‘Guv’ I look ‘round for ‘Arry.”

 

 

Ray nodded. “You earned it, though. You’re a sound copper. Every man in ‘ere’s proud t’be A division, an’ ‘s you and the Guv…uh…Superintendent Woolf, ‘s done that.”

 

 

Gene took a long swallow of his beer. He’d been hoping to be picked as the DCI, but he knew there were no guarantees – another officer could have been brought in, someone from another station or even a different force. It gave him pride, as he scanned the pub and saw his team, to know that he had been chosen to lead the best squad in the city. He finished his pint and looked around, trying to decide who was going to buy him his next.

 

 

***

 

 

Ray made it into the office and headed straight for the kettle. The painkillers he’d taken when he got up were just starting to take the edge off the pounding in his head, but the world still swam around him, making him feel sick.

 

 

He ignored the noises of other people coming into the office, assuming they were all in as bad a state as he was.

 

 

Finally Gene entered the room, dropping into the chair behind his desk. Ray had anticipated his arrival and walked over, dumping a cup of strong sweet coffee in front of his new Guv’nor. Gene grunted in thanks, but didn’t lift his head from his hands.

 

 

After a few hours Gene finally decided he could face standing again and jerked his thumb at Ray. “C’mon, Carling, wi’ me.”

 

 

Ray followed him out of the office, hoping they were going to end up somewhere with fresh air and no paperwork – reading was difficult when none of the ink would stay still on the page.

 

 

Gene drove a short distance, pulling up outside one of his favourite greasy spoons. “C’mon, I’m buying,” he said, seeing Ray’s frown.

 

 

Once they were both sitting at the formica table, full English breakfasts swimming in grease in front of them, Gene smiled. “Can’t tell anyone else this – ‘kay? Not for a week or so, anyway.”

 

 

Ray nodded, leaning forward.

 

 

“Soon as I can get it sorted, I’m bumping Bernie up to DI – he’s a sound copper, everyone gets along with ‘im, and he could probably do with the extra reddies, too, with the kid.”

 

 

Ray nodded. He liked Bernie Gallagher, got along with him well, and he knew other people would agree with the choice - it was always important for a new DCI to make decisions that were approved of by his squad. “Good call, Bo…Guv.”

 

 

“Yeah, I thought so,” Gene said, immodestly, scooping up some beans and a piece of sausage. “’Ere, you still livin’ in that shit-hole?”

 

 

Ray gave a grin at the description of his flat and nodded.

 

 

“How d’you expect to keep a decent bird when you take ‘er home there?” Gene asked, shaking his head.

 

 

Ray shrugged, not about to tell Gene that he had no intention of keeping a bird, decent or not. “Ain’t the décor they’re interested in, not once I got ‘em that far,” he smirked, knowing he had to keep up appearances.

 

 

Gene laughed. “Don’t s’pose it is – still, first week of your sergeant’s wages, I want you lookin’ for somewhere better, right? I won’t ‘ave my officers livin’ in digs worse than the scum we scrape off the streets.”

 

 

Ray smiled, then realised what Gene had just said. He widened his eyes, grin spreading across his face. “My…you’re makin’ me DS?”

 

 

Gene nodded. “You know me, know how I work. I can trust you. I know you won’t let me down.”

 

 

Ray nodded silently. Then decided a speech like that probably warranted a reply. “I won’t, Guv. An’ thank you.”

 

 

Gene waved his fork to dismiss the thanks. “Just don’t tell anyone, not yet. Not least because I don’t think some of the boys could handle another night on the tiles jus’ yet.”

 

 

Ray nodded, smiling. He wasn’t entirely sure he could either.


	9. Chapter 9

It was a week later that Gene broke the news to the rest of the team, and the double celebration lasted almost until dawn. Ray didn’t even get to bed before his alarm went off, instead waking up still fully dressed, sprawled on the sofa. He showered and shaved before dragging himself into work. The custody area was busy, and he shouldered his way through the throng – the remnants of some sort of party that uniform had dealt with during the night.

 

 

As he headed for the stairs a hand touched his arm. He span around, half expecting to see someone who had escaped the plod and was trying to make a run for it.

 

 

Instead there was Chris, pushing his fringe back and smiling. “Heard you got made DS,” he held out his hand. “Congratulations.”

 

 

Ray couldn’t help but smile widely, his headache forgotten. “Thanks.”

 

 

“Wondered…’f you wanted…I’ll buy you a drink or summat,” Chris continued, looking embarrassed.

 

 

Ray knew he should refuse, but before his brain could tell his mouth that important bit of information he’d already said ‘yes’. And Chris was smiling the sweetest smile he’d ever seen.

 

 

“Tonight?” Chris asked. “You know the New Inn?”

 

 

Ray nodded. “Yeah, I’ll be there…soon as I’m done, after shift.”

 

 

Chris smiled again. “Cool!”

 

 

Ray watched him almost skip back down the corridor and couldn’t help but laugh to himself. There was just something about Chris.

 

 

 

That afternoon he and Gene collared a low-level crook who Gene was convinced knew about a rumour that had been circulating over who was responsible for some wages snatches. Ray couldn’t help but glance at his watch whilst they were in Lost and Found, interrogating him. He tried to be subtle about it, but worried that Chris would be sitting on his own, thinking he’d been stood up.

 

 

Once the man had been thrown back in the cells, with Gene encouraging him to remember what he knew a little more clearly overnight, Gene turned on Ray.

 

 

“Keeping you, are we?”

 

 

Ray shook his head. “No, Guv. Jus’…’s nothing.” He flexed his fingers out, trying to ease the bruises on his knuckles.

 

 

“Bet she’d love to hear you say that. Go on then, go an’ find your hot date,” Gene waved a hand.

 

 

Ray almost corrected Gene, but then held his tongue. It didn’t matter to him what Gene thought, as long as it meant he got out of the station. He just wished it really was a hot date. He nodded. “Cheers Guv,” and left before anyone else could stop him or ask him anything.

 

 

 

By the time he arrived at the pub he was more than half an hour late, and he looked around, worried that Chris would have gone. Then he spotted Chris and couldn’t help but smile. He noticed Chris’s drink was almost finished, so laid a hand on the younger man’s shoulder, making him jump.

 

 

“What’re you drinkin’?” he asked.

 

 

“Um…mild, but I’m meant t’be buyin’…”

 

 

Ray waved his hand, “It’ll make up for me bein’ late.”

 

 

 

When he settled in the chair opposite Chris, he took a long swallow of his drink.

 

 

“So…the new Guv, you an’ him are friends then?” Chris asked.

 

 

Ray nodded. “He were my DS when I was a DC. Had a bit of history before that, too,” Ray answered. “Been a team, y’know?”

 

 

Chris nodded. “How come you knew ‘im before then?”

 

 

Ray smiled and decided he didn’t mind Chris knowing. “He felt my collar when I was only a kid and he were plod. ‘Cept I escaped – he ain’t really forgiven me for that though, so don’t mention it.”

 

 

Chris’s look of disbelief was so comical Ray found himself giggling into his pint.

 

 

 

From then on they talked about work – mainly the cases that Ray was working on because Chris was so interested in them. Ray could see how much Chris had changed from when they had first met – he was more confident and a little more hardened to the world that being a police officer brought him into contact with. He was still just a boy though, and Ray knew his feelings toward him were all entirely wrong.

 

 

***

 

 

He knew he had to stop torturing himself – not only was Chris far too young and the wrong sex, he was also plod, and everyone knew CID and plod didn’t mix. So he put his head down at work, collaring more suspects than the rest of the department put together. He took risks, he got in fights, and at the end of each day he put away enough beer and whisky to make sure he slept a deep and dreamless sleep.

 

 

On his days off he spent time pummelling the punch bags in his local boxing club or running until he dropped. And when frustration got the better of him, he spent the day far away from Manchester, picking up a faceless stranger for some no-strings sex. For that day it always made him feel better, but in the lonely dark of night he regretted it. He knew he had picked a job that meant he would never be able to have a proper relationship with another man. He took out his frustrations on himself and on the criminals he picked up, provoking them into fighting. It was self-destructive, he knew, but it made him feel more than the sex ever did, because he had a passion for his job that he never felt for the men he slept with.

 

 

It was easier, now the law had finally changed. He knew he still had to be careful - he may not go to prison for his actions now, but he'd certainly be out of a job. He always drove to another city – Leeds, Sheffield, Blackpool or similar and found a club - invariably in a dark backstreet. He was careful - perhaps overly so, but he knew he couldn't risk it otherwise.

 

 

He stepped inside a nondescript door, and nodded once to the large doorman who stood inside. Steps ahead of him led downwards, and the sounds of a bass beat could be heard. Someone obviously opened another door and the music got louder, and a waft of warm air washed over him. The smell was intoxicating - sweat and smoke and sex. Ray made his way down the stairs and pushed open the heavy door. There were men everywhere. Dancing, kissing, and in the dark alcoves he knew there would be people involved in far more hardcore activities. He pushed his way through the crowd, heading for the bar. The air was hot in comparison to the cold outdoors and he was already sweating.

 

 

A hand trailed across his arse, but he didn't even stop to see who it belonged to. He reached the bar, got a pint in and stood, surveying the crowds. There were men of every description - some in suits, others in almost nothing. He found himself picking out certain blokes for a closer look. Lithe bodies, slim builds, dark hair. Finally he moved back in amongst the heaving mass of bodies, moving against them. The atmosphere and the knowledge that before the night was out he would have had some sweaty, dangerous, rough sex was as much of a turn-on as the men rubbing against his crotch and arse.

 

 

He ended up dancing with one man - although it was less dancing and more just rubbing themselves against each other, a clear and wordless message passing between them. They moved to the edge of the floor, and Ray took the man's wrist, leading him down one of the side-passages, stepping over and squeezing past other panting, rutting couples. Then there was a space, a doorway, and Ray dragged the man into it. His erection was already straining against his trousers and Ray shoved his hand inbetween the other man's legs, seeking and finding a matching hardness. But the man was more direct, pulling Ray's trousers open and reaching into his pants. Ray tipped his head back as fingers closed around his cock. After a few strokes the man moved, pulling Ray away from the wall and moving there himself. At the same time he wriggled his trousers down to his thighs. Ray looked down at the muscular, perfectly formed arse on offer to him. He hadn't cared if he'd been on the giving or receiving end. It was clear the choice had been made for him. He spat on his fingers and reached down, slipping his digits down the other man's crack. He immediately felt a slickness there already and knew the bloke had come prepared. He smiled, taking hold of his cock and guiding it in.

 

 

The sex was quick, the animal need and the smells and sounds around them serving to tip both men over the edge. As soon as they were done Ray pulled out, pushing his softening cock back in his pants. He walked away without a backwards glance, out of the club. He could feel the adrenaline and the pleasure of orgasm still singing in his veins most of the way back to Manchester.

 

 

He returned to the same club a few times, liking the crowds and the atmosphere. He kept a close eye on the police reports from the area, checking it had never been raided or come under suspicion.

 

 

 

He saved up some of his new wages and bought himself a new car to go with his new flat. It was the first car he’d ever bought from new, and he was immensely proud of it. He had a good job, a nice flat and a new car. All things he had never imagined having when he was younger. 

 

 

When Gene first clapped eyes on the rich blue Capri he gave a low whistle. “Very nice, Raymondo,” he said, running one gloved hand over the roof. “Finally draggin’ yerself up the world, eh?”

 

 

Ray grinned. He did feel like that. “Thought the old one were lettin’ the side down a bit in the car park.”

 

 

Gene nodded – Ray’s previous car had been a rusty heap of bolts which seemed to break down more often than it went. But Ray had pointed out there was no point in buying anything nice where he lived – you’d only have the tyres slashed or the paintwork damaged.

 

 

“So, gonna give us a test run?” Gene asked, reaching for the door handle.

 

 

Ray nodded, climbing in and gunned the engine.

 

 

“What is it? Gene asked.

 

 

Ray looked across to him. “Sixteen hundred,” he paused. “GTI.”

 

 

“Very bloody nice indeed,” Gene said, looking around him.

 

 

Ray put his foot down and they shot along the road, fishtailing wildly around the corner in a squeal of rubber.

 

 

Gene sat back and let the wind ruffle his hair. He felt just a tiny bit jealous. But he knew Tess wouldn’t let him buy another new car – not yet.

 

 

***

 

 

Ray ran up the stairs to his floor, looking out across the city as he headed to his front door. He felt good – he always did after a workout, especially when everything was going so well. A murderer caught earlier in the week, his new car getting appreciative glances from everyone – definitely the envy of most people at the station – his new flat seemed perfect in every way and for once, life seemed sweet. He slid his key into the lock and let himself in, appreciating, as he always did, how much brighter and more welcoming his new home was, compared to his old digs. He noticed an envelope on the doormat and bent to pick it up. The postman had already been, before he’d left, so he wasn’t surprised to see the envelope was blank. He dumped his bag in the sitting room and slid his finger under the flap, ripping the paper. He pulled the single sheet of paper out and unfolded it, then felt all of the blood drain from his face, his heart clenched as if it were trapped in an icy block.

 

 

‘I know what you are’, the message read in bold black pen. He stared at the paper, a million thoughts running through his mind whilst his body felt numb. He tried to tell himself that the note could mean anything – it might not even have been meant for him. Maybe the person was just saying they knew he was a police officer, and this was meant to be some sort of bizarre warning. But deep down he knew that it was far worse than that. Someone either knew about his past, or that he was gay. Either way could spell disaster for his career and his life.

 

 

He finally moved, walking into his small kitchen, the paper still held in his hand. He picked a glass up from the draining board and took a long drink of water. He knew there was nothing he could do, apart from be more careful. If it was about his past – well, he couldn’t change that, he would just have to wait and see what the letter-writer wanted for his silence. But if it was about his sexual preferences, he needed to be more careful. No more trips out, no more picking up men, no matter how far away he travelled. He finally shoved the letter into a spare drawer in the kitchen. He knew there was no way he could send it off to fingerprinting without having to explain to someone what it was all about.

 

 

He lay awake in the night, feeling as if someone was watching him.


	10. Chapter 10

Gene glanced across at Ray yet again. He’d been worried about the younger man ever since Ray walked into the office that morning, looking pale, with dark rings under his eyes. In fact, he’d been looking steadily worse for the last few days, and had been uncharacteristically quiet, both at work and in the pub. Gene had ignored it at first – it wasn’t a crime to lose a few night’s sleep, not with the things they saw every day, but now it was becoming more serious. Gene knew he had a responsibility now, beyond friendship – he was the Guv’nor, and if someone on his team was having any sort of trouble it was his job to set it right and keep CID working smoothly and efficiently.

 

 

“What’s up then?” he finally asked. “Trouble with a bird?”

 

 

Ray snapped out of his thoughts and turned to look at Gene, then settled in his seat again. “No,” he answered, wishing it were that simple.

 

 

“Well something’s keeping you from your beauty sleep, Raymondo, so spill,” Gene commanded.

 

 

Ray shrugged. “’S nothing. Jus’…y’know, can’t sleep. It’ll pass.”

 

 

Gene snorted. He’d seen how much Ray had drunk the night before. If the man wasn’t sleeping after that then there was more to it than just a touch of insomnia.

 

 

“Thought we were mates,” he finally said, deciding that a guilt trip might be the way to go.

 

 

Ray’s head snapped around. “We are.”

 

 

“But you won’t tell me? What’s up…nightmares? The bogey man comin’ after you in yer sleep? We’ve all been there, things we’ve seen, only natural people have rough patches.”

 

 

“Yeah…well, there’s nowt anyone else can do ‘bout it, is there?” Ray answered, deciding to allow Gene to believe whatever he wanted.

 

 

Gene nodded, but somehow he knew Ray was just saying whatever he could to get him to stop asking questions. He supposed he should leave off, for the moment, and just keep an eye on Ray. He’d tried, after all.

 

 

 

That night, when Ray got home, he looked at the mat as the door swung open, as he always did now. And another blank brown envelope stared back at him. He felt physically sick.

 

 

He closed the door, leaving the envelope where it was, and fetched a tea towel from the kitchen. He wrapped it around his hand and returned to the envelope, picking it up, then taking it to the kitchen. He slit it open with a knife, careful not to touch the envelope. Then he used the point of the knife to drag the paper out. He held one corner down with his covered hand and used the knife to open it out.

 

 

‘You deserve to die.’

 

 

Ray swallowed hard, then carefully wrapped both the envelope and the note in the tea towel. He put it in the same drawer as the other note. He didn’t know what to do – if it had been blackmail at least he would have understood it, but these were just threats, and vague ones at that. This latest letter didn’t help him work out what it was about either. Maybe it was just a grudge – someone he’d put away. Perhaps he should have gone to Gene in the first place. It was hard to know, and he bitterly regretted having a past so murky even he couldn’t see well enough into it to know why someone might hate him. He leant back against the work surface and wrapped his arms around himself, glancing nervously at his front door as he heard footsteps on the landing outside, then relaxing as they faded again. He reached for the whisky bottle and poured a long slug. Everything in his life depended on no one guessing what he really was. He enjoyed being a police officer – he was good at it, he liked being part of the team. But he’d reinvented himself before - he could do it again.

 

 

He awoke on the settee, his alarm clock shrilling in the bedroom. He was still dressed from the night before. It felt as if he’d only just closed his eyes. He dragged himself up, stretching the kinks out of his back, then headed for the shower. He’d been awake most of the night, one half of his mind occupied by every little noise, every shadow that moved outside, the other by thoughts of leaving Manchester, leaving this life he’d made. Leaving Chris.

 

 

***

 

 

Gene watched as Ray got up and fetched his fourth mug of coffee. It had been almost a week since he’d tried to talk to his sergeant, and since then Ray had looked worse each passing day, not better. Even his days off had barely made a difference.

 

 

He grabbed his coat and walked out into the office. “Carling,” he called, heading for the door.

 

 

Ray gulped down some of the too-hot coffee and followed Gene.

 

 

“What’s up?” he asked, catching Gene on the stairs.

 

 

“People to speak to. Need to talk to some of those bookies again – someone must ‘ave seen something more. Those bastards can’t be this lucky.”

 

 

Ray nodded. There had been a gang robbing the city’s bookmakers for two weeks now, and they hadn’t got a break so far.

 

 

 

Gene wound down his window slightly and drove carefully, not rounding corners on two wheels or laying down rubber on the tarmac when he accelerated. He glanced across at Ray every few minutes until his sergeant’s eye’s slid closed, his head back against the headrest. He gave himself a small smile and continued driving aimlessly around the city, letting Ray sleep. He finally parked up, but even that didn’t wake Ray, so he reached his newspaper over from the back seat and sat reading it, cover to cover.

 

 

Ray stirred as his neck twinged and slowly opened his eyes. He realised he was in Gene’s car, and had obviously been asleep.

 

 

“Shit, sorry,” he rubbed his eyes, then looked across to the half empty packet of cigarettes on the dashboard, and the fact Gene was well into reading the paper. “’Ow long’ve I been asleep?”

 

 

Gene shrugged. “Couple of hours.”

 

 

“Fuckin’…why di’n’t you wake me?” Ray sank his head into his hands, still trying to wake himself up.

 

 

“You haven’t been sleeping anywhere else, may as well sleep here,” Gene answered, turning the page.

 

 

“Shit,” Ray rubbed his eyes again.

 

 

“So you gonna tell me yet?” Gene asked, pretending to be completely unconcerned.

 

 

“Already ‘ave. It’s nowt, I dunno.”

 

 

Gene revved the car engine, throwing his paper into the back and heading for the first bookies.

 

 

***

 

 

Ray trudged up the stairs to his floor, afraid of what he might find.

 

 

When he’d first bought the flat, able to finally afford a mortgage with his extra sergeant’s pay, he had been so happy. It was in one of the newish tower blocks, on the seventh floor, looking out over the city. It was the best place he’d ever lived – modern, with the kitchen and the sitting room open-plan, only split by a breakfast bar. The bedroom was large enough and the bathroom had a shower over the bath. But now, every night he climbed the stairs, he found he didn’t want to go back there. Instead of looking at the view he was looking for twitching curtains, for figures in the shadows. Someone had to have been watching him, following him. There was no other way they could know what he got up to on his own time, in other cities.

 

 

He pushed the door open, and to his relief the doormat was empty. He leant back against the door, sliding to the floor, head in his hands. He felt like crying, but he knew that wouldn’t get him anywhere. He hated not being able to do anything about the situation. He just wanted to get his hands on whoever was writing the notes, then he could deal with it; he’d be able to do something.

 

 

He finally picked himself up and sat on the sofa, the television on, but the sound turned down so he could hear what was going on outside. He felt like a prisoner. He remembered when he was young, living with his uncle. He had always had to be alert, sensitive to whatever mood the man might be in. He had never been able to relax. He had never imagined he could feel like that again, living in his own place.

 

 

He slept on the sofa again that night, the TV lulling him into slumber until the programmes ended. Then the test card girl and her clown kept a silent vigil until morning.

 

 

Ray headed for the gym late the next morning, looking forward to letting out some of his frustration on a punchbag. As he worked out, though, he couldn’t help but glance around at the other occupants of the gym, wondering if any of them could be the person sending him the notes. Soon, however, he let his thoughts go as he hammered his fists into the heavy leather bag, sweat dripping from his face, his shirt soaked. He knew he was going to suffer the next day, but for now he embraced the burn in his muscles and the aches in his joints. The rhythmic thud and jarring as he hit the heavy bag was comforting. He knew he could rely on himself and his fists. He always had. After a while, the pounding made old injuries ache again - fingers he’d broken on other people’s faces. The pain just gave him more focus though, and he hit harder.

 

 

He finally gave himself a cursory wash and headed for home, looking forward to a long soak in the bath, and hoping it would relax him into sleep, even if only for the afternoon. He dumped his bag down in his flat and headed for the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. There was a noise outside, and the sound of his letterbox opening and closing. He took the few steps to look down the short corridor, then spotted the brown envelope on the mat. He ran to it and grabbed it, turning it over to ensure it was the same as the others, then he wrenched the door open, glancing both ways and seeing someone just turning down the stairs at the far end of the walkway. Ray slammed his door shut and ran. He skidded around the corner and jumped down the stairs three or four at a time. The man, who was already a couple of flights below him, glanced up at the noise, and bolted.

 

 

Ray slammed into the walls, bouncing off them as he descended the stairs as fast as he could, feeling the concrete grazing his bare arms. He wasn’t gaining on the other man, but he wasn’t losing him either – he only hoped that once they were on open ground he could run faster. His already tired muscles protested, but finally he was at ground level, feet pounding the street as he pursued the man. He knew he could catch him, he was definitely gaining, so he pushed harder. Then a car door swung open, and the other man put on a renewed burst of speed too. Ray realised that he was going to get away, so threw himself in a long tackle, grabbing the man’s ankles and bringing him down, both of them skidding on the concrete in a tangle of arms and legs. The man took full advantage of his position, kicking out and catching Ray a hard blow in the face. They both struggled some more before the man managed to get to his feet and lunge for the car. Ray followed, and as the wheels of the car span on the tarmac, he threw himself in through the still-open door. The car pulled away, and Ray knew he wasn’t going to be able to hold on for long as his trainers dragged along the street. He looked at the driver as best he could, as hands grabbed at him and tried to break his grip on the passenger seat and doorframe. The man he had been chasing elbowed him hard in the face, then the car door cannoned off something, slamming into Ray’s back, and he finally let go, rolling across the road, arms around his head as he bounced over the hard ground. Once he managed to sit up, panting for breath, he noticed a few people looking at him oddly. He pushed himself to his feet, with help from a lamppost nearby, then staggered back toward his flat, his back flaring in pain and blood dripping from his face. Halfway there he realised his keys would still be sitting on the table, where he had dropped them when he got in. He stopped and sighed, wondering if anything else could go wrong for him. Then headed for a phonebox.

 

 

 

Gene snatched the receiver up, not in the best of moods. “Hello?”

 

 

“Guv?”

 

 

Gene frowned, he could think of no reason for Ray to be calling on his day off. “Ray, what’s up?”

 

 

“You still got a spare set of keys, to my place?” Ray asked. He remembered all too well the amount of ribbing Gene had given him when Ray had asked that he visit his flat whilst he was on holiday and water his pot plants, and he was pretty sure Gene had never given the key back.

 

 

“Yeah. Why, yer flowers wilting again?”

 

 

“I…can you bring ‘em ‘round? I’m…sorta locked out.”

 

 

Gene grinned, knowing there was some mileage to be had out of this predicament. It was also an excellent excuse to get out of the office. “Christ, Sergeant – hardly a fuckin’ police emergency, is it?”

 

 

“Guv…please?” Ray knew he sounded pathetic, and for once he didn’t care.

 

 

“Sit tight then,” Gene sighed theatrically. “I’m on me way.”

 

 

 

Ray slumped down onto the concrete outside his flat, looking down on the patch of grass in front of the block, where some kids had just started a game of football, still wearing their school uniforms. They seemed so carefree as they chased around the worn grass and mud, and he wondered why he’d never had the chance to feel like that, wondered if he should just give everything up and head to somewhere where no one knew him and no one cared what he did. Maybe he could get a job back on the boats, travel the world again. He sank his head down to rest against the torn knees of his grey tracksuit, wishing he could just get inside and hide from the world.

 

 

 

Gene span the keys around on his finger as he stood in the lift, stepping out on Ray’s floor. He spotted Ray, slumped on the floor outside the front door and gave a small grin. His sergeant might well hang his head – locking yourself out had to be one of the more stupid things a person could do. Then, as he got closer, he realised that something was wrong.

 

 

“Ray?” he called, walking more quickly.

 

 

Ray looked up, then pushed himself to his feet, grimacing as his bruises made themselves known.

 

 

“Bloody hell, what happened to you?” he demanded, handing over the keys.

 

 

Ray shook his head, wiping at his bleeding lips with his cuff, then opened the door. He stepped over the envelope, which still lay where he had dropped it, and headed for the bathroom. His bottom lip was split and blood was dribbling from his nose. He scooped up cold water in his hands and washed, the water turning pink as it swirled away. His lip was tender where his teeth had gouged into it and there was a graze and growing bruise on his cheekbone. Both his elbows and forearms were grazed, but that was no more than a playground injury. All in all, he didn’t think he’d come off too badly - nothing that couldn’t be explained away tomorrow by a drunken punch up in the boozer.

 

 

Gene picked up the envelope and turned it over in his hands, noticing it was hand delivered, then he threw it down on the table and leant against the doorframe of the bathroom.

 

 

“So, what ‘appened then?”

 

 

Ray glanced up at him, then grabbed the towel from the radiator and gently patted his bruised face dry. “I’ve…been ‘aving a bit of trouble,” he began, knowing that he could trust Gene, and that he couldn’t let the threats continue without trying to do something. As a police officer, he knew he had already been stupid, not telling anyone.

 

 

“Guessed that,” Gene answered. “What sort of trouble?”

 

 

Ray’s gaze fell on the envelope on the table. “Threats…y’know…jus’…anonymous letters, like. Then today, I were here, when they delivered it, so…I chased the bastard. Couldn’t get ‘im though, not once he’d got in the car.”

 

 

Gene nodded, then looked at the envelope. “You ‘aven’t read that one?”

 

 

Ray shook his head, looking at the floor. He knew there was nothing in the notes to suggest anything to Gene about his sexuality, but he also knew he’d have to explain them away somehow.

 

 

“How many have there been?”

 

 

“Two. I got ‘em both…but…” he shrugged.

 

 

Gene strode across the room, ripping the brown paper open. He wouldn’t tolerate anyone threatening a member of his squad, and he was angry that Ray hadn’t come to him straight away. He knew he could catch whatever bastard was behind it all and make him wish he’d never messed with Gene Hunt’s team.

 

 

He pulled out the white sheet of paper and unfolded it.

 

 

‘Faggots will all rot in hell. You soon.’

 

 

He turned slowly to look at Ray, then held the sheet of paper up, so Ray could read it.

 

 

“What do they mean?” he asked quietly in the tone he usually reserved for suspects they'd collared.


	11. Chapter 11

Ray tried to hold Gene’s gaze, but he found he couldn’t, the green eyes staring at him so accusingly.

 

 

“What do they mean, Ray? Talkin’ about faggots…where are the other letters?”

 

 

“Kitchen drawer,” Ray answered, avoiding the first question.

 

 

Gene searched the drawers until he found the other envelopes, ignoring the careful job Ray had done of preserving the evidence on the notes and laying them out on the table, with the latest one.

 

 

“You deserve to die,” he read out loud. “I know what you are. Faggots will rot in hell. You soon.” He turned to look at Ray again. “So what does it all mean? Who is it?” he asked.

 

 

Ray shrugged. “I don’t know…he was…I don’t know.”

 

 

“But…these can’t be for you, they’re sayin’…” Gene left the sentence hanging, a horrible thought creeping into his mind.

 

 

“I’m a poof,” Ray said, and Gene had no idea if he was ending his sentence or making a statement.

 

 

“You’re not,” he blurted out. But he knew by the look Ray gave him that he was wrong. “But you’re normal!” he protested.

 

 

Ray turned away, not wanting to see the expression on Gene’s face. “Not that normal,” he answered.

 

 

Gene had a hundred thoughts running through his head, but they all came back to the same point. Ray was a decent bloke. He was tough, he could sink pints with the best of them. He could throw a punch, he’d even appreciated a nice pair of knockers, on occasion. He was not – could not be – a bender, a fairy…a poof.

 

 

“But…” Gene shook his head, closing his eyes. “I’ve seen enough fairies in my time…I mean, Christ, you’re…how can you be?”

 

 

Ray shrugged. “It ain’t a choice. You don’t wake up one day an’ think ‘I know, I’ll fancy another bloke’…it just…it’s…it’s just the same as fancyin’ birds. You don’t know why you do it, you just do it.”

 

 

Gene shook his head slowly, looking Ray up and down. He still couldn’t believe this wasn’t some sort of stupid prank, and any minute Ray would burst out laughing. Then he looked back at the notes.

 

 

“And how…where…how did they know?” he asked.

 

 

Ray sank down onto the edge of the sofa. “I don’t know – I’ve always been careful…I always thought I’d been careful. Then…they don’t want money, it ain’t blackmail…it’s…I didn’t know what to do.”

 

 

Gene tried to think rationally. He told himself to ignore this sudden disconcerting revelation about his best friend and concentrate on the fact some scum where obviously out to hurt one of his men. Ray had obviously been worried about his reaction, or he would have come to him immediately for help. It hurt Gene, just a little, to think that Ray didn’t trust him.

 

 

“Well, they know where you live, so you can’t stay ‘ere. Get cleaned up an’ come back to mine, tonight. The missus won’t mind.”

 

 

Ray looked up, surprise evident on his face. “I can’t…not your place…” he protested weakly.

 

 

“You can’t stay ‘ere, not when some nutter’s makin’ threats like that. Get changed, pack some things. Tomorrow we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

 

 

“You can’t…I don’t want this bein’ made official. I don’t want no-one to know, right?”

 

 

Gene had never thought of Ray as someone who could panic, but it was clear in his tone that the very idea of anyone finding out scared him to death. And that scared Gene.

 

 

“Unofficial. You an’ me, we’ll sort this, right?” Gene hesitated, then clapped his hand onto Ray’s shoulder, a friendly matey gesture, he was sure. He removed his hand quickly, though, not wanting to give the wrong impression.

 

 

Ray finally nodded, looking as if he didn’t have any fight left in him. He sat for a moment before standing up and pulling his tracksuit top over his head, making for the bedroom.

 

 

Gene saw the red stripe across Ray’s ribcage, some of which was rapidly turning blue as it bruised. He winced, but didn’t say anything, suddenly not wanting to admit that he’d been looking.

 

 

 

The car journey was silent. Gene was glad that being the Guv’nor meant he didn’t have to report to anyone, and if he clocked off early no one would notice. He pulled up at traffic lights and glanced over to Ray.

 

 

“When…when you’d done your leg in, and got that fever…Remember you thought I was someone else, ‘cause I was holdin’ yer hand like the nurse told me to…was he…” Gene trailed off, remembering the unhappy story attached to Pete’s name.

 

 

“Yeah,” Ray answered too quickly.

 

 

“’M sorry,” Gene said.

 

 

Ray didn’t answer, not wanting to delve back into those thoughts again. He just gave a small nod of acknowledgement.

 

 

 

Gene pulled over outside his house, knowing his missus would be glad to have him home at a reasonable hour, even if the circumstances were less than ideal.

 

 

 

“Gene love, is that you?” Tess called as the door opened.

 

 

“Yeah, an’ Ray,” Gene called back.

 

 

Tess headed for the hall, a basket of laundry balanced on one hip. “Ray! It’s been a long…oh, goodness – what happened to you?”

 

 

Ray gave a small smile. “Jus’ a bit of bother…nowt really.”

 

 

Tess rolled her eyes, having heard it all before from Gene. “Well if you want anything…ice, antiseptic, a nip of brandy, I’ve got ‘em all.”

 

 

Ray smiled as widely as his split lip would allow, understanding exactly why Gene and Tess were such a good match. “Thanks.”

 

 

“Sit down, want a drink?” Gene offered.

 

 

Ray nodded. “Cheers.” He sank down onto the sofa, trying to ignore his aches and pains.

 

 

 

Gene found his bottle of scotch and poured two short measures – well aware Tess was watching him.

 

 

“I take it Ray’s staying to eat?” Tess asked.

 

 

“Yeah, love. An’ tonight. He’s…there’s just a bit of bother, at his. Needs to kip ‘ere.”

 

 

Tess rolled her eyes but smiled. “I’ll have to put new sheets on the spare bed. And I was going to do chops tonight, but I only bought two, so it’ll be shepherds pie instead, okay?”

 

 

Gene grinned, pressing up against her and wrapping his arms around her waist. “’Course it is.” He planted a kiss on her neck and headed back to the sitting room.

 

 

He passed one glass to Ray, dropping into the armchair himself.

 

 

“So,” he started, but didn’t know how to continue.

 

 

Ray looked at the floor, not knowing what to expect from his Guv’nor.

 

 

“When they bumped me to DI, and you got in that fight…I thought you ‘ated poofs. Didn’t put two an’ two together.”

 

 

Ray nodded slowly. “’S what I wanted you to think, I s’pose,” he mumbled.

 

 

“So, who is it then, sending them letters? You get a good look at ‘em?”

 

 

Ray squeezed his eyes closed. “I dunno. I think…he looked familiar, but I can’t place ‘im.”

 

 

“Someone we’ve pulled in?” Gene asked, leaning forward.

 

 

Ray shrugged and shook his head. “I don’t know. I only saw ‘im for a moment. Dark hair, average build, thirties, maybe younger…in a brown car. Austin Farina, I think. Didn’t see the plates.”

 

 

Gene nodded slowly. “We’ll look into it tomorrow.”

 

 

 

After they had eaten Gene and Ray headed back to the sitting room, Gene armed with the bottle of scotch. They watched the news in silence, but Gene couldn’t help but let his attention wander from the screen and his gaze fall onto his friend. He had thought that he knew Ray so well. He finished his glass of whisky and poured himself another, holding the bottle out to Ray.

 

 

“So,” he started, unsure how to phrase his question, and for once not wanting to cause offence. “You…got a…bloke, at the moment?” he asked awkwardly.

 

 

Ray looked up and shook his head. “No.”

 

 

Gene wasn’t sure whether he was relieved or not. He thought, on balance, he probably was. If he’d actually have come face to face with the person his sergeant was sleeping with he was pretty sure it would all seem far too real. In fact, just thinking about it was making him frown.

 

 

“So…” he started again, and then stopped, shaking his head.

 

 

Ray gave a small smile. “You can say what you want, Guv. Doesn’t bother me.”

 

 

Gene opened his mouth to protest, but closed it again without uttering a word. He felt as if he was a man of the world. He’d seen things and done things most people would never get the chance to – would never want to. He knew about sex, about those who wanted it, sold it, bought it, couldn’t get it or forced others into it. But he’d never known or wanted to know anything about men having sex with men, except what he’d had to to uphold the law.

 

 

Until now.

 

 

“How can anyone…let another bloke…do that to them? Why would you…they…” Gene couldn’t bring himself to be more precise – he wanted to distance himself from the whole topic, really, except he hated thinking there were things he didn’t know.

 

 

Ray gave a small shrug, not looking at him. “It’s…it don’t hurt, Guv. I know…it’s ‘ard to believe, but…it feels good, done right.”

 

 

Gene pulled a face, shaking his head in disbelief. Even though he’d accepted that his sergeant liked men, he found the thought that Ray might ever play the part of the girl a bit too much to take. He’d assumed that Ray liked fucking other men, not being fucked himself. But obviously, once again, he was wrong. He didn’t like being wrong.

 

 

 

The next morning Ray awoke to a knock on his bedroom door. “Bathroom’s free, Raymondo,” Gene called.

 

 

Ray stretched out, having slept the whole night through for the first time since the notes had started to appear. He sat up and rubbed his hands over his face, yawning widely and knowing he could happily sleep for even longer.

 

 

 

They spent the morning going through files and old case notes, trying to find any links to people Ray had recently dealt with who could fit his description of the man at his flat. Gene slowly became more frustrated as Ray slowly discounted each suspect he came up with. In then end he threw the last file down.

 

 

“Come on, let’s go back to yours, see if there’s anything that’ll give us a clue. Someone else might’ve seen something…unofficially, y’know?”

 

 

Ray nodded. He didn’t want to go poking around in his own neighbourhood. He was quite happy to live anonymously, no one knowing him or anything about him, but he supposed he had no choice.

 

 

***

 

 

Gene screeched to a halt in the car park, stepping out and looking up at the block of flats. He didn’t like the way the high rises were spoiling the city’s skyline, but he could see that, for people like Ray, they were perfect. He glanced around at the surrounding area, the scrubby patch of grass where the kids played football and the row of shops opposite. He glanced across at Ray, then began walking toward the shops.

 

 

“Someone’ll have seen something,” he said.

 

 

Ray nodded. He glanced along the familiar row, and changed course slightly toward the one on the end of the row. Gene followed his lead.

 

 

Ray pushed open the door to the hairdresser’s, immediately assaulted by the smells of shampoo and hairspray. The woman who sat behind the counter looked up, smiling, then frowned. “I’m sorry, Sir, we only deal with female clients,” she said quickly.

 

 

“Not ‘ere for a shampoo and set, love,” Gene answered, flashing his warrant card. “Wanted to know if you saw what ‘appened ‘ere yesterday. Car drove off at speed, brown one, after a fight.”

 

 

The woman nodded. “I did – I saw it, two blokes, one chasin’ the other. He caught ‘im too, and there was a fight – just over there it were,” she pointed to the entrance to the car park. “But the one who was runnin’, his mate must’ve been in the car waitin’, and he got in it. But the one chasing – big bloke, thuggish-lookin’, he caught ‘em again, hangin’ onto the car he were, but then the car door ‘it that lamp-post over there, see, an’ it knocked ‘im off.” She nodded again, as if to emphasise the point. “Recognise ‘em anywhere, I would.”

 

 

Gene shot a look at Ray, who rolled his eyes. “Is that right, love,” he said. “Anythin’ else you can tell us? Description of the car? Plates?”

 

 

The woman sucked her teeth. “It was an eight or could’ve been a B, maybe…and a one? And the letters, they were JPS, like the cigarettes. I remember that. It were brown – horrible colour for a car, I think. Don’t know what sort.”

 

 

Gene smiled, noting everything down. “Thank you, love.”

 

 

The woman smiled. “You think you’ll catch ‘em? This used to be such a nice area, families an’ all. Now there’s young people with their music blarin’ out, cars racing around at all hours.”

 

 

Gene looked out across the grass, where an old couple walked their dog and two mothers pushed prams along the pavement. It didn’t exactly strike him as a hotbed of unrest.

 

 

“We’ll get ‘em, don’t you worry, love,” he reassured.

 

 

 

As they walked back toward the car Gene shot a look at Ray. “You seemed pretty sure she’d ‘ave seen something.”

 

 

“Spends all ‘er days lookin’ out that bloody window, don’t she? Never misses owt, that one. Women go in there for the gossip, not the hair-dos.”

 

 

“She obviously don’t take much in though – thuggish-lookin’ bloke she’d recognise anywhere, huh?”

 

 

Ray gave a smile. “Yeah, well, she give us a clue on the plates, di’n’t she?”

 

 

“If she got that right,” Gene grumbled. “We’ll ring the bloody driving wotsit office. If they pull their fingers out of their arses we might even have a reply by tomorrow.”

 

 

Ray nodded, reaching into his pocket and lighting himself a cigarette and offering Gene one. Whilst he wanted the bastard caught, he wasn’t sure he wanted anyone to know why they were doing what they were doing to him, even Gene.

 

 

 

As soon as they reached the office Gene made some enquiries with the local vehicle licensing office and was promised that they would call back as soon as anything had been found out.

 

 

“They’ll call back,” he announced quietly to Ray.

 

 

“Not much else we can do, is there?” Ray asked.

 

 

Gene shook his head. “It’s our best lead. Probably won’t hear back until tomorrow though. So keep yer ‘ead down today, an’ you’ll come back with me again tonight, right?”

 

 

Ray wanted to protest, but the thought of another night’s sleep feeling safe and unthreatened was too big a pull. He nodded. “Cheers, Guv.”

 

 

“Not a problem, Raymondo,” Gene clapped a hand onto his shoulder – and removed it quickly again.


	12. Chapter 12

The list of possible names that came back the next day was only four long – and one of them wasn’t the right model of car, but as it was the correct colour and make it had been included just in case.

 

 

Ray shook his head. “Don’t recognise any of them, Guv,” he said.

 

 

“Well maybe you don’t know the wheel man, just the other one,” Gene answered.

 

 

Ray nodded. “Mebbe. Or it could’ve ‘ad false plates on.”

 

 

Gene hoped that wasn’t the case, but agreed it was a possibility.

 

 

“Come on then, we’ll go and knock on doors,” he said, grabbing his cigarettes.

 

 

 

They started with the address that was closest – in Manchester itself. The street they pulled up in was quiet, a dead-end with neat red-brick houses lined either side. The car was sitting outside, clean and shining. Ray immediately noted the lack of damage on the door.

 

 

“Don’t think this is the one,” he said.

 

 

Gene grunted, heading for the front door anyway.

 

 

As soon as it was opened Ray shook his head. Gene still asked a few questions, but it was clear the man wasn’t anything to do with the letters or the incident the day before.

 

 

As soon as they were back in the car Gene consulted their list. “Next, then,” he said, revving the engine and setting off.

 

 

 

It was the third name on the list which came up trumps. As soon as they pulled up in the street Ray gestured to the car parked a few places down. “Door’s dented. Reckon this is it.”

 

 

Gene looked across at him. “You gonna be okay doing this?”

 

 

Ray nodded.

 

 

“C’mon then.”

 

 

Gene thumped his fist on the door, then held his warrant card loosely by his side as he saw someone approaching down the hallway.

 

 

The door opened and the man looked at Gene, frowning, then moved his gaze onto Ray. His eyes widened and he turned and ran. Gene and Ray moved as one, Ray running up the street, Gene crashing into the house, slamming the door back so hard objects fell from the small table inside the door. The man struggled to open his back door, but managed it in the end, crashing it closed behind him. He did the same with the back gate, but it hardly made Gene pause in his stride.

 

 

Ray guessed that the man would head the shortest distance to the end of the alley, so that was the direction he took, skidding around the corner and spotting the man as he shot out of one of the back yards.

 

 

Ray stepped back, hiding around the corner until the footfalls were close, then he moved out, shoulder dipped, ready for impact. The man couldn’t step aside and Ray easily tacked him head on, using the man’s own momentum to throw him against the brickwork, grabbing his arm and twisting it up behind his back.

 

 

Gene skidded to a stop beside them, nodding to Ray. “Right, we’ve got questions an’ you better ‘ave some fuckin’ answers.” He secured the man’s other arm and they dragged him back toward the house.

 

 

 

The man landed on the sofa with a thump and a gasp as the air was knocked out of his lungs. He wriggled into the corner, his hands now secured behind his back with handcuffs.

 

 

Gene towered over him. “Is that your car outside – the brown Austin?”

 

 

The man nodded, clearly terrified.

 

 

“Who was with you the day before yesterday – when you met my sergeant?”

 

 

The man shot a look at Ray, who was standing, arms crossed, by the door.

 

 

“It…he…he didn’t tell me you were a copper. And…I didn’t know what he was doin’. Not until after, I made him tell me, after you…” he shot another nervous look at Ray.

 

 

Gene leaned over the man, gripping his shirt front. “So what did ‘he’ tell you…and where can we find ‘him’?” he asked in a low menacing voice.

 

 

“He just said…said you deserved to…to be punished. Said…said you were scum, low, said you betrayed him. Said the letters would…they’d scare you. That was all. He just wanted to scare you…”

 

 

Ray shook his head. “Who?” he asked, at a loss.

 

 

“Gerry Blanchard, he…he…we’re friends,” the man stuttered.

 

 

Gene looked up at Ray, but Ray shook his head, the name meaning nothing to him.

 

 

“And where can we find him?” Gene ground out.

 

 

***

 

 

The man stayed slumped in the back of the car, keeping low in the seat as Gene and Ray locked the doors and approached the block of flats that he had directed them to.

 

 

“Ready for this?” Gene asked.

 

 

Ray nodded and led the way up the stairs. The flat was on the fourth floor, and this time there was no way their quarry could escape. He banged his fist on the door and they waited.

 

 

The struggle was short but violent – the man reacted as soon as he saw Ray, but there was nowhere he could run. Gene slammed him face-first into the wall a few more times than was needed, then dragged him around to face Ray.

 

 

“Raymondo?”

 

 

Ray began to shake his head, then stilled. He swallowed, feeling the colour drain from his face. A memory surfaced, indistinct and missing parts. The man in front if him, his hair shorter, his clothes very different. His arse on offer.

 

 

“Shit,” he breathed.

 

 

“Yeah, you remember, you fuckin’ faggot,” the man spat. “You fuckin’ . Bastard.”

 

 

“Ray?” Gene questioned.

 

 

“Yeah…I know him, right? I…know him,” Ray said softly.

 

 

“You bet he fuckin’ does,” the man struggled against Gene’s grasp.

 

 

“Give me your handcuffs,” Gene demanded, holding his hand out to Ray.

 

 

Ray reacted slowly, handing them over. Gene slid one around his prisoner’s wrist, the other he snapped onto the hallway radiator. Then he pushed Ray back out of the door, walking him a short distance along the landing.

 

 

“Talk to me, Ray.”

 

 

Ray shook his head, rubbing his hand over his face. “I…I picked him up. In Leeds. We…it was in a club. It was once, last year…I haven’t seen him since. I don’t know…I don’t know how he found me. I didn’t even tell him my name – I don’t know his.”

 

 

“Jesus Christ.” Gene shook his head. “This is a fuckin’ mess. What do you want to do?”

 

 

Ray shrugged. “I don’t know…I…Fuck!” he smacked his hand against the wall, then made a fist and hit the wall again, his back turned to Gene, both his forearms resting on the cold concrete, his shoulders hunched, a vision of misery, every bit of his body language making it clear he wanted to be left alone.

 

 

Gene reached out, then hesitated, before finally laying his hand on Ray’s shoulder. “Ray, don’t worry. We’ll…” Gene wasn’t exactly sure what they would do, but he knew he wouldn’t let his friend down. “It’ll work out. Okay? Can’t turn back time, so we’ll deal with it, right?”

 

 

Ray nodded slowly, but didn’t look any happier as he turned to face Gene.

 

 

Gene gave his shoulder a squeeze of support, then headed back into the flat, unable to comprehend what it must be like to have feelings which were against the law – then he mentally corrected himself – legal as of the previous year. But still frowned upon by society, and most definitely by the police force.

 

 

“Why did you do it?” he asked the man, standing over him, hand on his hips. He knew he probably looked threatening, so he kept his voice soft.

 

 

The man looked away without answering.

 

 

Gene moved suddenly, grabbing him and shouted into his face, spit flying from his mouth. “Why the fuck are you threatening him?”

 

 

The man tried to recoil, but he couldn’t. The grip Gene had on his collar was far too tight.

 

 

Ray stepped into the hallway, pushing the front door closed behind him. He stood, looking down at the man, arms folded across his chest, almost hugging himself.

 

 

“What did I do to you?” he asked softly. “Why do you hate me so much?”

 

 

The man narrowed his eyes. “You fucked me, you bastard, used me. I saw you, picking up other blokes, I saw you going off with them to fuck. And you never came back to me.”

 

 

Ray stared, open-mouthed. “I didn’t…we picked each other up in a fuckin’ club! What…what did you expect?” he said incredulously.

 

 

“I thought you were different,” the man spat. “I fuckin’ gave myself to you.”

 

 

“Why?” Ray asked. “Why would I be different? Christ! Everyone goes there for the same reason.”

 

 

“Right,” Gene fixed the man with a hard look. “We’ll be back.”

 

 

He steered Ray out of the flat again, leaving the man attached to the radiator.

 

 

“Oi! You can’t leave me…you bastards, get back ‘ere! You can’t fuckin’…” the protests faded as Gene walked back along the landing.

 

 

“What’re you doing, Guv?” Ray asked, glancing nervously back at the flat they’d left.

 

 

“I won’t have scum thinking they can get away with threatening my officers. He’s going to suffer for what he did. We just have to work out how,” Gene answered, his expression dark.

 

 

***

 

 

Back by the car Gene sat heavily in the driver’s seat, looking at the man in the back in the rear view mirror.

 

 

“So what did your friend think he’d achieve, then?” he asked.

 

 

“Where is he…what’ve you done to ‘im?” the man asked, obviously terrified.

 

 

“He’s been very stupid. Don’t follow in his footsteps. What did he want? Money? What?”

 

 

The man shook his head. “I don’t know – I don’t. Just…I think he wanted revenge, like. Just…to make you suffer,” he looked at Ray. “Maybe…I think he was plannin’ to hurt you, maybe. I don’t know. He’s just…he’s an old mate. I didn’t know…didn’t know he were…like that, with men an’ all. I thought it were somethin’ else. He used to be caught up in…y’know, worked for some dodgy faces. I thought this were to do with it. I thought if I didn’t help him they might…do summat to me.”

 

 

Gene nodded slowly, then reached for the radio.

 

 

***

 

 

Gerry stumbled as he was thrown into the cell.

 

 

“Fuckin’ poofs! I’ll fuckin’ ‘ave you!” He threw himself at the door as it swung shut, his threats and abuse still audible as Phyllis slammed shut the cell door.

 

 

Gene looked at her and shrugged. Phyllis didn’t react – she’d heard it all before.

 

 

 

As Gene walked back through CID, he gestured for Ray to follow him into his office. Once inside, he grabbed two mugs and the bottle from his bottom drawer.

 

 

“Sit down,” he gestured to the chair opposite.

 

 

Ray obeyed, silently.

 

 

“He’s still effin’ and blinding. Calling us all poofs, sayin’ he’s innocent,” Gene pushed one of the mugs toward Ray. “No one’s listenin’.”

 

 

Ray just nodded. He felt incredibly uneasy, having the man in the station, but he knew that he could trust Gene.

 

 

“So tell me. Is this going to be a problem? I ain’t asking you to be a monk, but you’re playing with fire, Raymondo, and you nearly got badly burnt this time.”

 

 

“I…I tried to be careful, Guv. I met ‘im in Leeds – I’ve never picked anyone up ‘ere, honest. An’ I don’t…” he shook his head. “I don’t do it often.”

 

 

Gene studied Ray carefully. He knew that if it were birds Ray was pulling he’d be reacting completely differently – egging him on, celebrating each conquest, wanting to know the lurid details. But this was so different, and he could see how much it was hurting his friend. But, he also knew that, however unfair it seemed, Ray was running the risk of ruining his career, and Gene couldn’t let that happen.

 

 

“Well everything suggests he’s in with the Carter brothers. If we can link him in with the job they pulled a few months back, he’ll be going down. No one’ll care what he says then. We’ve just got to sort it out, and fast. Can’t keep ‘im here forever.”

 

 

Ray nodded, taking a long swallow of the whiskey, letting the drink warm him from the inside out.


	13. Chapter 13

In the end it wasn’t as hard as they had feared to build a case against Gerry Blanchard. He had led a far from blameless life, mixing with other people who were already known to the Manchester CID, so Gene leant on snouts, informers and other criminals until he found someone who could provide them with the evidence they needed.

 

 

Throughout the investigation into Blanchard, Ray was always by Gene’s side, always ready to back him up or do anything he asked. He was well aware that there weren’t many people who would help a man in his position.

 

 

The day of Blanchard’s trial, Gene gave Ray a slap on the back. “Ready to watch that scum go down?”

 

 

Ray nodded, a nervous smile on his face, his notebook with his testimony in his pocket.

 

 

Gene could see the toll that the entire investigation had taken on Ray, and he was pleased to think by that afternoon it would all be over.

 

 

“Don’t worry, he won’t say anything. Bloody terrified, isn’t he? Anyone finds out the real reason he hates your guts and he’s going to get a very fuckin’ warm welcome inside, ‘ey? So unless he wants to be fucked into the middle of next week by a prison full of horny scrotes who’re all after some fresh meat, he won’t say a word.”

 

 

Ray nodded, knowing Gene was right. He’d been called every name under the sun by people he’d sent down in the past. Yet, this time it was different because this time the man he was facing really did know the truth about him.

 

 

 

Gene kept his gaze steadily on Blanchard as Ray was called to the stand. The man looked smug, but there was fear mixed in, too. Gene knew it was an act – one he’d seen countless times before.

 

 

As Ray stood in the box, Gene looked to him instead. He knew Ray well enough to see his usual confidence was wavering. Ray glanced over at him and Gene nodded once, steady and sure.

 

 

Ray took a deep breath and listened to the barrister as he began firing questions. He tried to keep his voice steady, assured. He felt like he was doing well, until he began going through what had happened when they finally found the evidence and arrested Blanchard.

 

 

“Fuckin’ lyin’ queer! Fuckin’ wait, I’ll get you back for this – I will!”

 

 

Ray swallowed, and once the judge had warned Blanchard, he continued with his testimony, but he could feel his nerves beginning to show. When Blanchard’s defence lawyer began the cross examination, he really felt the pressure. The man constantly made Ray repeat himself, making much of Ray’s thick accent, which was all the more pronounced when he was under stress. There were more outbursts from Blanchard, until the judge warned him that he would be removed. But each time Ray would glance across at Gene and see him sitting, face stony, arms folded, he took strength from the fact that Gene believed in him and had fought for him. He knew he couldn’t let his Guv’nor down.

 

 

 

Gene was worried, but he didn’t let it show. He knew Ray was strong, but he also knew his sergeant had a quick, fiery temper. He had witnessed that when Ray had gone for the man who tried to insult them in the street. He hoped that Ray could ignore Blanchard, despite the obvious emotions he was feeling. Gene ensured that he kept his gaze on Ray, not once glancing at Blanchard, because he knew the man wasn’t worth it. He felt pride gripping him when Ray kept his cool, despite Blanchard’s insults and the barrister’s condescending tone and implication that Ray was stupid.

 

 

***

 

 

That afternoon, Ray walked from the court into the warm sunshine, feeling as if he were the one who had been on trial – that he had now been set free, his name cleared. Gene slapped him on the back, steering the car straight to the Railway Arms, and allowed Ray to buy him an evening’s worth of alcohol.

 

 

 

When Ray finally got back to his flat, he sank onto the sofa, looking around and smiling. He felt safe again, and more than that, he felt a tremendous sense of relief that he could stay in A division, with Gene and more importantly, Chris.

 

 

1972

 

 

Ray leant up against the entrance to the station, blowing smoke rings and waiting patiently. He finally saw Chris climbing the steps from the car park, talking to another constable.

 

 

“Skelton, a word,” he called, trying to sound commanding so no one would think he was choosing to talk to a woodentop.

 

 

Chris broke away from his friend and walked toward Ray.

 

 

“’Ere,” Ray tapped his cigarette box and offered one to Chris. “How’d you like to earn some brownie points with the Guv?”

 

 

Chris’s eyes widened. “Doin’ what?”

 

 

“Got a job comin’ up, need someone to help – someone who can pass as twenty or so, who don’t look like a copper.”

 

 

Chris began to nod. “But…don’t I look like a copper?” he asked, looking a little hurt.

 

 

Ray grinned. “Not once we’ve got you out of uniform an’ dressed more casual – you’ll be fine.”

 

 

Chris’s smile returned. “So…what d’you want me to do?”

 

 

“Tomorrow, come here in civvies, find me in CID, and we’ll go through it, right?”

 

 

Chris nodded eagerly, then his face fell. “What about Sergeant Dobbs an’ everyone…I’m supposed to be going on me beat.”

 

 

“I’ll sort ‘em, don’t fret,” Ray answered.

 

 

 

After half an hour, however, he began to wonder if even Chris was worth it as he continued to fight with Phyllis over whether CID should be allowed to pick and choose constables to help out at a moment’s notice, especially when she’d already sorted out the shift rotas. She finally gave in though, and Ray breathed a sigh of relief before heading to the pub for a well deserved drink.

 

 

He had thought about Chris a lot, the young man was always on his mind, and he always seemed to be around, bumping into Ray in corridors or in custody. Chris was growing up. No longer a skinny kid, he was now a young man - still slim, but more muscular. Ray had tried so hard to ignore him, but he couldn’t. He had noticed that the men he was attracted to were always the ones who looked most like Chris, and on the odd occasion he dared to take things further he then hated them all the more for not living up to his dreams. He knew he was being stupid, so decided to change tack. Even if he could never have what he wanted, he could still help Chris out, make sure he was happy and keep him close – keep him safe. 

 

 

***

 

 

The next morning Chris walked into the station feeling very self-conscious. He grinned good-naturedly at the jeers of his fellow constables as he walked past the locker room and to the stairs that led up to the CID offices, then smoothed down his jumper and took a deep breath before pushing the door open. He had expected CID to be a studious place – full of files and boards covered in case notes and photos and things. He hadn’t expected there to be a football match going on in amongst the desks, in-trays crashing to the floor as Ray and four or five other officers fought over a tennis ball. Chris stepped backward to avoid the scrum as they bundled past him. When he looked up, Ray was standing in front of him, tie askew, shirt partly untucked and hair messed up.

 

 

“C’mon, sit down. Want a cuppa?” Ray gestured to his desk, shoving his shirt back down his trousers and pulling his tie back into place.

 

 

“Please – milk an’ two,” Chris answered, nervously standing near the desk Ray had pointed to.

 

 

“Grab a chair,” Ray said to Chris. “Oi – settle down now,” he shouted to the men involved in the football match.

 

 

Once a relative calm had settled, Chris was sitting, hands wrapped around his hot mug of tea, listening carefully as Ray outlined exactly what the plan was.

 

 

***

 

 

Chris wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers, looking around nervously. He kept going over and over what Ray had told him in his mind, desperate not to forget anything. It was a simple task; CID had set everything up for him, he just had to pretend to be a frustrated office junior who was after making a few quid extra on his wages by selling information. He was supposed to work at a shipping firm, so somehow – and Chris wasn’t sure exactly how – everything had been set up for him to pass on all the details of a bullion shipment that was due in. Ray had told him everything that the man would want to know, now all Chris had to do was remember it and pass it on.

 

 

A man walked toward him and Chris swallowed hard. The man glanced around, then stopped and nodded at Chris. Chris pushed himself away from the wall, looking around too, to see if the van he knew Ray and Mike were in was still there.

 

 

“Chris?” the man grunted.

 

 

Chris nodded.

 

 

“Go on then.”

 

 

Chris licked his lips nervously. “What about the money?”

 

 

“Tell me what you got. If it’s worth it you’ll ‘ave the money,” the man answered.

 

 

“Half ‘n half then,” Chris said, trying to sound more confident than he felt. “It’s worth it.”

 

 

The man dipped into his pocket and pulled two pound notes from a roll, holding them out. Chris reached for them, but at the last moment the man snatched them back, making Chris jump.

 

 

“Tell me what you know an’ you can ‘ave ‘em.”

 

 

Chris didn’t know what else to do, so he nodded and began to recite the places and dates that Ray had made him learn. “An’ if you want, there’s more, I mean, can tell you more, next time we get summat in,” he finished.

 

 

The man nodded slowly, then held out the two notes again, this time letting Chris take them. “If it all goes right, you’ll get the rest, right?”

 

 

Chris shoved the notes into his pocket and nodded eagerly. “You can catch me outside work, or in The Swan, most nights.”

 

 

The man nodded in acknowledgement, then turned and left. Chris could feel himself shaking, now the pressure was off. He took a step backward and leant against the wall again. Then he remembered what he should be doing and turned away, walking toward the van. As he approached it, the side door slid open and Ray stepped down, lighting two cigarettes. He held one of them out to Chris, who took it, hoping Ray couldn’t see how much his hand shook.

 

 

“Did he swallow it?” Ray asked.

 

 

Chris nodded. “Think so…I…yeah?” he said, uncertainly.

 

 

“Bloody knew it, greedy bastard,” Ray smiled. “C’mon, back to the nick, we can sort the rest out.”

 

 

“What about this?” Chris pulled the crumpled notes from his pocket, holding them out.

 

 

Ray glanced across to Mike, then reached out and folded Chris’s fingers back around the money, pushing it toward him. “Look at it like a bonus, for a job well done,” he smiled.

 

 

Chris’s face lit up – the money was a substantial boost to his week’s wages. “Cheers Sarge!”

 

 

***

 

 

Chris heard through the usual station gossip that the operation was a success, and four armed blaggers had been arrested. He had hoped that Ray might come and find him, to tell him the details, but instead he had to make do with the very scant information Phyllis had. It upset Chris, just a little bit, to think that Ray couldn’t be bothered to spend the few minutes to tell him what had happened when it had been their case.


	14. Chapter 14

Ray parked up outside the station and climbed out of his car slowly, transfixed by the vehicle in the next space.

 

 

Gene looked across at him, from his relaxed pose leaning on the vinyl roof. “Alright, ain’t it?”

 

 

Ray nodded, sliding his palm over the bronze paintwork of the gleaming Cortina. “Bloody hell. You kept that quiet, di’n’t you?”

 

 

Gene smirked. “And don’t think for one second you’re getting’ the keys.”

 

 

Ray stood back and nodded, a touch of jealousy creeping over him. His own car was good enough – he still loved the Capri, but the Cortina was something else. This machine was beautiful. “Must’ve cost you a bit,” he commented, admiring the chrome fittings.

 

 

Gene shrugged. “Worth every penny. Get in, I’ll take you for a spin.”

 

 

 

They flew around the streets of Manchester, Ray holding on for dear life, a wide smile on his face. Gene took the car to its limits, and it felt as if they cornered on two wheels more than once.

 

 

“No fucker’s goin’ to get away from us in this!” Ray called over the roar of the engine.

 

 

Gene nodded, then reached down and flicked the radio on. Ray noticed it also had an 8-track in it and nodded appreciatively. The car was, perhaps, the most beautiful vehicle he’d ever been in. He felt privileged that the front seat was, apparently, his.

 

 

They arrived back at the station car park in a squeal of tyres as they skidded across the tarmac. Everyone turned around and, as Ray stepped out of the car, he felt good – special. He and Gene were a team, and people respected them.

 

 

 

As they walked up the steps he saw Chris staring down at the car, and he smiled widely at the young man.

 

 

Chris finally dragged his gaze from the Cortina and noticed Ray, then quickly smiled back, embarrassed that he’d been caught staring instead of working.

 

 

***

 

 

Gene leaned back in his chair, sipped whisky from his mug, and looked at his sergeant through narrowed eyes.

 

 

“You think he’d handle it?”

 

 

Ray shrugged. “Don’t see why not – he’s keen, loyal, Phyllis ain’t got a bad word to say about ‘im. He just needs someone to…I dunno, show ‘im the ropes. Look at what he did the other week – first time out an’ we wrapped it up in one. Took bollocks, that did.”

 

 

“Was hardly bloody rocket science, Raymondo,” Gene snorted. “He ‘ad to tell some greedy bastard a pack of lies, that’s all.”

 

 

“Still, Guv, we gotta take someone, so why not ‘im? Can always throw ‘im back to uniform if he can’t handle it.” Ray tried to sound unconcerned, and hoped Gene would fall for the act.

 

 

Gene finally nodded. “Fine. You better hope he lives up to your expectations though, Sergeant. I’ll leave you to break the good news, right?”

 

 

Ray nodded, suddenly nervous. He’d talked Chris up to Gene – he just hoped that Chris could live up to the image he’d created.

 

 

It was past the end of shift, but Ray stuck his head around the door of the locker room anyway, just in case. It was deserted, so he knew he’d have to try to catch Chris the next morning.

 

 

***

 

 

He got up early to get to the station in good time, and saw Phyllis walking in ahead of him, still in her civvies.

 

 

“Phyllis,” he called, jogging to catch up with her.

 

 

She fixed him with a stern look, knowing that when someone from CID decided to talk to her they invariably wanted something. “Yeah?”

 

 

“I talked to the Guv, Skelton’s goin’ to be movin’ into CID, as of Monday,” Ray said. “Thought you should be the first to know.”

 

 

Phyllis nodded once, having guessed that such a move was on the cards. “Just you be good to ‘im – he’s a nice lad. None of your usual larks – ‘e’s got a heart of gold, that one.”

 

 

Ray nodded seriously, knowing that Phyllis was worrying unnecessarily. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep me eye on ‘im.”

 

 

“You better tell ‘im the good news then,” Phyllis gestured behind Ray to where Chris was trailing in, yawning widely, looking as if he’d just rolled out of bed.

 

 

Ray span around and smiled at Chris. “Hey, got some news,” he said.

 

 

“Sergeant Dobbs told me,” Chris said slightly sulkily. “You got ‘em all, bang to rights.”

 

 

Ray frowned for a moment, then realised that Chris was referring to the job they had done. “Oh, yeah. Sorry, I meant to tell you, but got caught up in other things.”

 

 

Chris shrugged, trying not to show how much it bothered him.

 

 

“Anyway, that weren’t what I was gonna say,” Ray continued.

 

 

Chris looked up, brightening up a bit. He hoped Ray might want him to help out again. He had found actually working on a case far more satisfying than pounding the beat each day, sorting out petty squabbles and just showing his face in the community. And, despite the ribbing his friends gave him, he did feel a bit more important in plain clothes.

 

 

“I ‘ad a word with the Guv, about what you did an’ all, y’know, undercover, an’ as of Monday you can lose the uniform. Report to CID at oh-seven-‘undred, right?”

 

 

It took Chris a moment to realise what Ray had said, then his eyes widened and a smile spread across his face. “You…me? Really? I mean…really?”

 

 

Ray held out his hand. “Congratulations, DC Skelton.”

 

 

Chris grabbed Ray’s hand and shook it hard. He really wanted to throw his arms around the other man and hug him, before cartwheeling around the car park and shouting from the rooftops. Instead, he found he was just grinning and laughing like an idiot. “Wait ‘til I tell me Mum an’ Dad! They’ll be made up, they will. This is great – a DC? I…this is great!”

 

 

Ray couldn’t help but grin back at Chris, and he knew he’d done the right thing.

 

 

***

 

 

The next Monday morning, Chris dressed in a clean shirt and smart trousers, even knotting a tie and settling it under the long points of his collar. Then he pulled on his best tank-top and a jacket. He looked at himself in the bathroom mirror and reached into his pocket, pulling out his warrant card and flashing it to an imagined suspect. “DC Skelton – you’re under arrest,” he said. Then decided he was being a bit too friendly. He frowned and tried again. “DC Skelton – you’re nicked!” That was better, he decided – sounded more like a detective should. He put away his card and straightened his clothing up, then heard his mum calling, so ran downstairs.

 

 

“Come on, Christopher, I’ve cooked you a proper breakfast, set you up for your first day in CID,” she gestured to the plate in his place at the table. His Dad was already eating, so Chris sat down and tucked in.

 

 

“Thanks Mum, ‘s great,” he said, mouth full.

 

 

“You just be careful,” his Dad said. “Sort of people you’ll be goin’ after now ain’t what you’re used to. Playin’ with the big boys now, Christopher.”

 

 

Chris nodded, although it annoyed him slightly that his Dad still treated him like a child. He knew the risks of his work well enough.

 

 

When it was time for him to go for the bus his Mum kissed him on the cheek and pushed his hair back off his face. “You take care now, and have a good day,” she smiled. “I know you’ll be just fine.”

 

 

 

Chris felt even more nervous than he had the first time he’d been in CID as he walked toward the door. He opened it and looked in to see a few people milling about, most with mugs of tea in their hands and cigarettes on the go. As he walked in, feeling lost, he looked for Ray. Then someone called over to him.

 

 

“Oi, Guv wants to see you, straight away,” the detective said.

 

 

Chris nodded, immediately worried that he’d somehow done something wrong already, and walked up to Gene’s office door. He knocked on the glass and waited for Gene to call him in, then stepped inside.

 

 

“Skelton,” Gene barked. “Come ‘ere, ‘ave this.” He held out a small oblong of card which read ‘This is to certify that Christopher Skelton holds the rank of Detective Constable. This is his warrant and authority for executing the duties of his office.’ He took out his warrant card and slipped it in front of his old one, stroking the plastic down over it.

 

 

“Thanks, Guv,” he smiled.

 

 

Gene nodded. “Right, when Carling shows his face stick with him. He’ll tell you his cases, show you how things work. In the meantime, find me a pack of Hobnobs and a cup of tea, right?”

 

 

Chris listened wide-eyed and nodded, then left to complete his first task for his new Guv.

 

 

Ray wandered into the office just as Chris headed back to Gene with half a packet of chocolate hobnobs and a mug of tea with milk and one sugar – he had asked someone else how the Guv took his tea, to make sure he got it right.

 

 

“Ray – I mean, Sarge,” he smiled. “I just gotta…” he gestured to Gene’s office door with the biscuits.

 

 

Ray nodded, knowing exactly what Gene was doing, but not about to stand in his way. Everyone needed to know their place on the ladder – that was the way the department worked. He set about clearing the desk in front of his of all the various mugs and newspapers and other rubbish that had gathered on it, then found a spare chair. By the time Chris exited Gene’s office again, the desk was almost in a fit state for use. 

 

 

“’Ere, this is you,” he said to Chris, gesturing to the desk. “We’ll find you all the other shit later, when we’re back.”

 

 

“Back?” Chris echoed.

 

 

“Got things to do, c’mon,” Ray grabbed two case files off his desk and headed for the door.

 

 

 

Once in they were in Ray’s car, Chris opened the files Ray had thrown into his lap. “So what’re we doin’, Sarge?”

 

 

“You don’t ‘ave to call me that. ‘S Ray, right?” Once Chris nodded Ray continued. “Read the files, I’ll tell you the rest.”

 

 

Chris nodded, smiling. “’Kay.” He studied the various reports and notes, then looked at the photographs. It was a gang who seemed to be involved in some sort of protection racket, and Chris could feel the excitement growing inside him at the thought of doing some real investigative work. It seemed that everyone was too scared to talk, so Chris wondered what Ray had in mind to get a break in the case.

 

 

“What’re we doin’, then?” he finally asked. “Goin’ to see someone?”

 

 

Ray nodded. “Snout. ‘Opefully he’ll have something to tell me. He better ‘ave.”

 

 

Chris nodded, eyes wide, wondering what would happen if the snout didn’t know anything. He didn’t suppose you could make people know something they didn’t, and he wondered what Ray would do.

 

 

 

Half an hour later, when Ray had Toby McKay in an arm lock, face pushed up against the brickwork, Chris was starting to understand how sometimes people did know things…they just needed to be persuaded to tell those things to the police. Chris winced as Ray bounced McKay’s forehead off the brickwork again, when the answer to the next question obviously wasn’t what Ray wanted to hear. He could see the veins standing out on Ray’s neck, his knuckles white as they gripped McKay’s hair. Chris didn’t think that he’d ever be able to act like Ray did.

 

 

Finally Ray let go of McKay and turned him around. “If you’re lyin’ to me, you’ll bloody regret it,” he finally said, getting right into McKay’s face.

 

 

The man nodded, looking terrified.

 

 

 

Chris followed Ray back to the car, throwing glances over his shoulder at the man still clutching his head and leaning against the wall. He was now, if he was honest with himself, a little bit scared of Ray. And wondering exactly what he’d got himself into, if this was how being in CID worked.

 

 

“C’mon, let’s get some breakfast,” Ray smiled as he opened the car door.

 

 

It took Chris a few seconds to put together the Ray looking at him now, all smiles and bright blue eyes, with the Ray who had just slammed a man up against the wall hard enough to break his teeth. He sank into the passenger seat, unsettled.

 

 

He ate his bacon butty slowly, despite not really being hungry after his Mum’s fry-up that morning, and watched as Ray licked brown sauce off his fingers. There was something about his new partner that made Chris feel special. It wasn’t just that out of everyone in the station Ray had picked him, it was something else, something Chris couldn’t put his finger on. He didn’t have many close friends, but he hoped that he and Ray would become friends as well as workmates. In fact, he was desperate for it – he didn’t think he’d survive if he wasn’t friends with Ray.

 

 

***

 

 

At five pm Gene pulled his coat on and strode out into the office. “Skelton! With me. I shall allow you to celebrate becoming a member of Manchester’s finest squad by buying me a drink.”

 

 

It was the signal everyone had been waiting for, and shortly afterward the entire squad had relocated to The Railway Arms.


	15. Chapter 15

Ray watched as Chris got more and more drunk. Everyone was having a great time, the beer flowing, darts matches going on, card games springing up and everyone taking full advantage of yet another celebration. There was a little part of him, though, that felt protective toward Chris, so he kept an eye on the younger man.

 

 

Eventually, in the early hours, Gene threw his arm around Ray’s shoulders. “Better get the boy ‘ome,” he said, in a waft of whisky fumes. “Your responsibility, right? Make sure he sees ‘is second day on the squad.”

 

 

Ray nodded, fighting to focus on his Guv’nor, then picking out Chris from the crowd. He nodded again, with more certainty, and patted Gene on the back in acknowledgement. “Got it, Guv.”

 

 

He weaved through the bar, which was emptying anyway, and put his hand on Chris’s back. “C’mon, ‘s get you ‘ome,” he slurred.

 

 

Chris turned to see who was touching him, and when he saw Ray he smiled and threw his arms around him. “Ray!”

 

 

“Yeah mate, gotta get you ‘ome, yeah?” Ray noticed what he thought was Chris’s jacket and grabbed it, watching as Chris got entangled in the sleeves. It was obvious all of Chris’s attention was now on the jacket, and none on Ray, so Ray pulled on Chris’s arm. “C’mon. Where d’you live?”

 

 

Chris looked up at him, his eyes glazed. “Home.”

 

 

Ray grabbed Chris and dragged him out of the noise of the pub, into the street. “I know tha’, but where’s home?”

 

 

“Mum an’ Dad,” Chris answered and half fell into Ray, ending up hanging from Ray’s neck. “You my bes’ friend?” he slurred, smiling.

 

 

“Yeah, yeah I am, an’ that’s why you need t’ tell me where your folks live, right?” Ray tried to hold Chris upright away from him and tried to ignore the effect that Chris’s warm body rubbing up against him was having.

 

 

Chris nodded, still grinning like a fool.

 

 

“So tell me!” Ray repeated, frustration taking over.

 

 

“’S that way,” Chris swung his arm, managing to point at about half of Manchester, then dissolved into giggles, grabbing onto Ray again.

 

 

Ray rolled his eyes, then, despite his better judgement and because he’d had a lot to drink, he draped Chris’s arm around his shoulders and set off for his own flat.

 

 

He shoved Chris into the lift, struggling to stop Chris sliding down the wall whilst reaching for the buttons. He started giggling and Chris dissolved into laughter, too, and Ray had to lean against Chris, holding him against the wall to keep him upright, muscles useless from the combined effect of alcohol and laughing fits.

 

 

“C’mon, nearly there,” he finally said, hauling Chris away from the wall and out onto the landing.

 

 

“Where?” Chris asked, looking around and realising he didn’t have a clue where he was.

 

 

“My place – you can kip ‘ere, okay?”

 

 

Chris smiled again, “Yours…yeah,” he nodded, eyes half closed. “Y’are my bes’ friend, ever, an’ I love you, Ray.”

 

 

Ray stopped dead in his tracks, still supporting Chris’s entire body weight. He knew that Chris was just drunk, he didn’t know what he was saying, but the words had still robbed Ray of breath for a moment, sobering him up faster than a bucket of water in the face. He looked across at Chris, who was grinning widely at him, completely oblivious of the effect his words had had.

 

 

“Love you too,” he said very softly, then continued toward his front door.

 

 

 

He forced Chris to drink a pint of water, most of which Chris just managed to pour down himself, then got him to the bedroom, only letting him walk into one wall on the way. Chris dropped onto the bed, head down, eyes half closed.

 

 

“C’mon, Chris, you can’t sleep like tha’,” Ray fumbled with the knot in Chris’s tie, pulling it undone.

 

 

Chris’s head lolled, the warmth of the flat, the alcohol and the comfy bed conspiring to lead him into sleep. He pushed Ray’s hands away, slipping over sideways, his head landing on the pillow.

 

 

Ray looked down at him, shaking his head. He knelt by the bed and pulled Chris’s shoes off, then tugged his belt undone, forcing his mind away from any thoughts other than making sure the younger man would sleep comfortably. He managed to remove Chris’s jacket, then pulled some of the covers over him.

 

 

Ray readied himself for bed, found some spare blankets and threw them on the sofa, drank as much water as he could stomach, then couldn’t help but return to his room. He was surprised to find Chris now bare-chested, his shirt still caught around his wrist by the cuff, the covers kicked off again. He put down the glass of water he had brought in and gently freed the shirtsleeve from Chris’s wristwatch. Then he pulled the blanket back over Chris, allowing his fingers to stroke over the smooth skin of Chris’s back for just a second. He stood, leaning back on the wall, watching as Chris breathed deeply.

 

 

He didn’t know how long he’d stood there when he finally shook himself out of his trance, picked up his alarm clock and headed back out to the sitting room. He stripped down to his underpants and lay on the sofa, the blanket pulled over him, staring through the doorway to where he could see the outline of Chris’s arm - his creamy skin visible against the dark blanket.

 

 

***

 

 

Chris awoke, blinking in the dim light. His bladder was complaining, and it felt as if something had died in his mouth. He saw a glass of water on the bedside table and grabbed it, drinking deeply. Then, his eyes getting used to the gloom, he realised that he wasn’t in his own bed. He pushed himself to sitting and looked around, but he didn’t recognise the room at all. Then he looked down at himself and realised he was naked from the waist up, and his belt was undone. He didn’t remember anything, other than being in the pub, and he didn’t have the first idea where he might be now. But he did know he had to use the toilet.

 

 

He stood up, using the wall to keep himself upright, and made for the door. When he looked into the room he could see a figure on the sofa, mainly hidden, just one well-muscled shoulder and some hair visible. He guessed that the other door leading from the room was the bathroom, so headed for it, feeling his way around the doorway until he found the light switch, then closing the door before turning the light on. He peed, looking around himself, blinking in the brightness. There were only a few things in the room – a bottle of aftershave, shaving gear, toothbrush and paste and a bar of soap sitting on the side of the bath. Chris drank from the tap and washed his face a little, then decided that whoever it was had obviously let him in, so the mystery could wait until morning. He unlocked the door and stepped back into the sitting room. The body on the sofa had moved, and in the shaft of light Chris could see Ray, one arm folded under his head, the other hanging over the edge of the sofa, hand on the floor. The blanket was also slipping to the floor, exposing Ray’s body and most of one leg.

 

 

Chris stood, transfixed. Ray’s muscles were clearly visible, along with tattoos on his arms and back, but in sleep his face had softened, making him look younger - almost boyish. Chris took a few steps toward him until he realised what he was doing. He turned quickly and switched off the bathroom light, then traced his hand along the wall to ensure he got safely back to the bedroom. He slid his trousers off and slipped under the covers, resting his aching head down on the pillow and breathing deeply, now recognising Ray’s aftershave. Somehow he felt comforted and safe. He pulled the covers around him and snuggled into them, falling asleep almost immediately.

 

 

 

Ray awoke with a start as the alarm went off, so reached out and hit it off. He didn’t want to wake up, but knew he had to. Then he remembered Chris and scrambled up, knowing they would be late unless he got up. He pulled on his trousers and his shirt from the day before, then walked into the bedroom and stopped dead at the site of Chris, sprawled in his bed, now undressed apart from his pants, the sheet barely covering his bum. His hair was falling over his eyes and all the pillows were in disarray, most of them somehow in Chris’s grasp as he hugged them to him. Ray wished he had a camera, but as he didn’t, he just stared, wanting to remember every detail. Finally, he squatted by the bed and reached out, touching Chris’s bicep and giving him a gentle shake.

 

 

“Chris, c’mon, time to get up.”

 

 

Chris barely moved, just grunted slightly.

 

 

“Come on, Chris,” Ray shook him a bit harder.

 

 

“Few more minutes,” Chris mumbled.

 

 

Ray desperately wanted to give in and let Chris sleep, but he knew he couldn’t.

 

 

“No, now, come on.” And before Ray even realised what he was doing he pushed the hair back from Chris’s face with his fingertips so he could see Chris’s eyes.

 

 

Chris blinked, then stared. It was Ray, in front of him, shirt hanging open, trying to wake him, touching his hair. Chris focussed on the blue swallow that was visible on the right hand side of Ray’s chest, then realised what he was doing and dragged his gaze back up to Ray’s face.

 

 

“Oh shit,” he mumbled, pushing himself upright and realising that he was almost naked, in front of his new sergeant, having slept in the man’s bed and forced him to kip on his sofa. “’M sorry,” he said, pulling the blanket over himself.

 

 

Ray realised how embarrassed Chris was and stood up, moving away from him. “You wanna get back to yours before work?” he asked, cursing himself for giving in and touching Chris.

 

 

Chris was about to nod his head, but then decided he probably didn’t have time; he had no idea where Ray’s flat was. “Uh…dunno, don’t really need to, I don’t s’pose,” he answered. “Um…how did I get back ‘ere?”

 

 

Ray smiled. “I dragged you back ‘ere cos you were too far gone to tell me where you lived.”

 

 

“I…oh. Sorry, I di’n’t mean to…um…thanks for lettin’ me ‘ave the bed,” he felt himself blushing. “Di’n’t mean to get so drunk…”

 

 

“No problem. You want a cuppa?” Ray asked, buttoning his shirt as he headed out of the room.

 

 

“Yes please,” Chris called, then sank his face into his hands. He couldn’t believe he’d been so far gone that he needed looking after like some kid. And he knew his mum would be worried too. He swung his legs out of bed and pulled his trousers on, then spotted his shirt hanging off one of the handles of the wardrobe. He knew he hadn’t put it there, and he looked out into the sitting room, wondering exactly how much Ray had done for him. He emerged from the bedroom feeling distinctly ill, and saw Ray in the kitchen, shirt untucked and feet bare on the lino, making two mugs of tea.

 

 

Ray looked around and smiled. “Feelin’ rough?”

 

 

Chris nodded miserably.

 

 

“’Ere,” Ray reached into one of the drawers for a small bottle and grabbed a glassful of water, then held out the bottle of tablets and drink to Chris. “Take two of ‘em, it’ll help.”

 

 

Chris did as he was told, gulping down the tablets and water, watching as Ray moved around the kitchen. He was oddly touched that Ray had remembered exactly how he liked his tea.

 

 

Ray passed him one of the mugs and settled back against the worktop, folding his arms and resting his own mug on the crook of his elbow.

 

 

Chris couldn’t help but remember Ray asleep the night before, the solidity of his body was still etched on Chris’s mind, the light tan of his skin, the shape of his muscles. Chris wanted to know the stories behind the tattoos, but he knew he would never ask – it was too personal, too familiar. Now Ray stood in front of him, shirt on, and Chris could hardly believe that the bright ink was under there, etched on Ray’s skin forever.

 

 

“Did I…” Chris didn’t think he wanted to know the answer to the question, but he knew he had to ask. “Did I do anythin’ stupid?”

 

 

Ray smiled, “You don’t remember?”

 

 

Chris froze, then shook his head very slowly.

 

 

A number of different stories ran through Ray’s head, but in the end he didn’t have the heart. “Nah, you di’n’t do anything. Jus’ got pissed, then I walked you back ‘ere cos you wouldn’t tell me where you lived.”

 

 

“An…you…undressed me?” Chris screwed up his face in embarrassment.

 

 

“Nah, you did that yerself, mainly,” Ray smiled.

 

 

Chris sighed in relief.

 

 

“We’ve all done it, don’t worry. I’ve even ‘ad to take the Guv ‘ome a few times. Anyway, ‘f you can’t celebrate getting’ out of uniform, what can you celebrate?”

 

 

Chris nodded, but he still felt bad.

 

 

 

When they reached the office, Gene looked Chris up and down, glad that he’d made it to work. He felt a small amount of satisfaction that the young man looked like he’d quite like to curl up and die.

 

 

“Get ‘ome all right then, Skelton?” he asked.

 

 

“Uh, yes, I mean…” Chris decided it would be far better if his Guv didn’t know exactly where he’d ended up. “Yes, Guv,” he nodded.

 

 

“Good. Ray, my office, now,” Gene beckoned.

 

 

Ray stood up, picking up his cigarette from where it rested on the ashtray, and followed Gene into the small office.

 

 

“Wassup, Guv?” he asked.

 

 

“Sit down,” Gene gestured, then waited for Ray to comply. “Got ‘im home all right, then?”

 

 

Ray had overheard Gene’s question to Chris, so just nodded. “Aye Guv, he were no trouble.”

 

 

“Good. Now, got a task for you.”

 

 

“Oh aye?” Ray said, sitting forward.

 

 

“Here.” Gene handed Ray a printed sheet.

 

 

Ray glanced down at it, then raised his eyebrows. “Me, Guv?”

 

 

Gene nodded. “May as well. Never know when there might be an opportunity. You’re ready for it.”

 

 

Ray nodded, smiling, looking down at the list of times for classes to study for his Inspector’s exams.

 

 

“Means you’ll ‘ave to do a bit extra work – but I know you can manage it,” Gene smiled.

 

 

“I will, Guv – thanks, I mean it…you…thanks.”

 

 

Gene shrugged. “Don’t let me down.”


	16. Chapter 16

When Ray got back to his flat that night, he looked at his bed, still in disarray from Chris‘s visit. He sat on the edge of it, remembering Chris’s lithe body, almost naked, in his bed. He wished it had been in other circumstances, and he picked up the pillow Chris had slept on, hugging it to his chest and breathing in deeply. He could just detect Chris’s shampoo, and buried his face in the pillow, trying to imagine it was warm flesh he was holding, not cloth and feathers.

 

 

 

He didn’t know if he’d made his situation better or worse – his days were now filled with Chris, who was enthusiastic about every level of work that came to CID, constantly chattering on and asking questions. But that just made his nights feel all the more empty.

 

 

He fell asleep on the sofa that night, clutching the pillow, a bottle of scotch next to him and the test card girl staring out at him as he slept.

 

 

***

 

 

 

Chris had seen Gene’s Cortina around the station, and had admired it from afar, but he had never dreamed he would get to ride in it. But one morning a case was called in involving one of the local gambling dens, so Gene drove them there, Chris hanging on for dear life in the back, being thrown around as they cornered on what felt like two wheels – and he couldn’t wipe the grin off his face.

 

 

When they arrived and Gene skidded the car to a stop and Chris felt a surge of pride as he stepped out, well aware that most people in the street had stopped to stare at them. Yes, this was definitely the life. They walked into the casino and Chris, as usual, watched Gene and Ray at work, both men commanding attention easily. Chris just observed, trying to work out how he would ever have the same effect on criminals as they did. He experimentally bunched his fist at his side, but the thought of actually hitting someone filled him with fear. He watched as Ray slammed someone into a wall, face first. Then Gene leaned in and started questioning the man, Ray tightening the arm-lock until he’d almost broken the man’s arm.

 

 

Chris glanced down at himself. He still felt like a kid – surely no one would take him seriously.

 

 

“Skelton!” Gene shouted. Chris feared it wasn’t the first time he’d been called. “Get your notebook,” Gene ordered.

 

 

Chris fumbled in his pocket, wondering if he’d ever do anything right.

 

 

***

 

 

Ray pulled up outside Chris’s house and turned the engine off. He was a little early, and although he wouldn’t have admitted it to anyone, he knew it was because he’d missed the younger man. Chris had taken two days off for his mother’s birthday. The two days had dragged. A lack of interesting cases and work without Chris had conspired to put him in a bad mood; most people in the office were steering well clear of him.

 

 

So, when the front door opened and Chris emerged, walking towards the car, Ray couldn’t help but smile, and reached over to open the door.

 

 

“Alright?” he said as Chris slid into the passenger seat.

 

 

“Aye. You?” Chris answered.

 

 

Ray nodded, putting his foot down, causing the tyres to squeal slightly on the tarmac. “’Ow’s yer mum? ‘Ave a nice day?”

 

 

“Aye.” Chris gave a small grin. “Glad to be out though. Family’s okay but…”

 

 

Ray turned and smiled at him, about to make some joke, then he stared. On Chris’s top lip was…he squinted slightly. You couldn’t really call it a moustache, more like some stray whispy hairs which had escaped the razor.

 

 

Chris immediately felt self-conscious. He knew what Ray was looking at, and suddenly he felt a little bit silly. He looked away, out of the window.

 

 

“Gonna be a nice day,” he observed.

 

 

Ray just nodded, looking up at the cloudless sky.

 

 

By that evening, the day had proved to be anything but nice. Ray looked down at the body. She was just a girl, a young girl, now pale in death, bruises stark on her marble-like skin. There was a dirty rag stuffed in her mouth, grotesquely spilling out. But what really got him was what had obviously been done to her. Her life ended, but before that, her innocence had been taken.

 

 

Chris stood back a little bit, watching Ray so he didn’t have to look at the body. The breeze was gentle in the trees, a light rustle. It should have been nice, calming. But it wasn’t, it was eerie.

 

 

“Ray?” he finally said, after the silence had stretched on for far too long.

 

 

Ray looked up at him. “Aye?”

 

 

“Do we…’ave to stay ‘ere?” Chris asked quietly.

 

 

Ray glanced at the two uniformed officers nearby, then to where Gene was surrounded by other members of the squad.

 

 

“No,” he answered. “No.” He turned his back on the body. It hurt, leaving her alone, naked, no-one to take care of her. He couldn’t help but think of Pete. Except they’d catch the bastard who did this, and she would be laid to rest properly.

 

 

***

 

 

It turned out to be a simpler case than they’d hoped. Graham Bathurst confessed to the murder, and CID headed to the pub, to celebrate a job well done.

 

 

Ray stood next to Chris at the bar, shoulders touching.

 

 

“Y’did well,” he slurred. “Talkin’ to them girls, getting’ ‘is name.”

 

 

Chris gave a small smile.

 

 

“An’…now we’ve cracked it, you got time to shave, eh?” Ray giggled slightly, then tried to control himself.

 

 

Chris ran a fingertip over his fledgling moustache. “Don’t you like it? I…thought it made me look…older, like.”

 

 

“Aye, s’pose it does,” Ray answered. “You don’t wanna be in a hurry to get old though.”

 

 

Chris nodded slowly.

 

 

“’Sides, girl’s’d rather go f’your bonny face than bumfluff,” he added, giggling again.

 

 

 

 

1973

 

 

The snow was falling heavily and Ray called Chris back from the office window for what seemed like the thousandth time.

 

 

Chris trailed back to his desk, looking forlorn. “But it’s snowin’, Ray.”

 

 

Ray just looked up; it had been snowing heavily all morning. “And?”

 

 

Chris pouted a bit. “Don’t you think it’s excitin’?”

 

 

Ray shrugged. “It’s just snow.”

 

 

Chris peered back out of the window, tipping back on his chair to get a better look. “It’s really thick now though. Proper, like.”

 

 

Ray looked down at the notes he’d been writing. He supposed it wouldn’t do any harm to follow up some of the leads.

 

 

“C’mon then,” he said.

 

 

Chris’s face lit up. “Where are we goin’?”

 

 

“There’s a name come up with that armed blag. Dunno if it’ll lead anywhere or not, but we may as well check it out.”

 

 

Chris grabbed his warm coat and wrapped his scarf around his neck in record time, then waited impatiently for Ray to gather up all the essentials – his own coat, cigarettes, lighter and a notebook. He knew Ray was being kind to him – they could easily have spent the day doing paperwork in the warm office, and he appreciated it. There was something so magical about snow – the way it changed the city, muffled the sounds and gave everything a strange light.

 

 

Ray pushed the snow off the windscreen with his hands, saving the last handful to launch at Chris, who was staring around at their white world.

 

 

“Oi!” Chris tried to shake the snow out of his collar and stop the ice trickling down his back. He looked around for some ammunition, ducking behind the car and grabbing a handful from the roof. Then, he popped up from his hiding place and threw it hard at Ray, who fended it off with his arm for the main, but was still splattered as it exploded.

 

 

Ray quickly took refuge in his car, laughing as he shook the snow from his hair and clothes. Chris quickly followed and was grateful when Ray started the car and switched the heater on.

 

 

“We’re jus’ gonna make some gentle enquiries, right?” Ray said. “I know the bloke – Terry Davis, ‘ad dealings with him before. He might ‘ave something to say, few people have mentioned his name.”

 

 

Chris nodded. He didn’t really care – he just wanted to be out in the snow.

 

 

 

When they reached the large factory it looked beautiful, the white contrasting with the dirty brickwork. Chris got out of the car and squinted upwards, the snow catching in his eyelashes.

 

 

“What’s ‘ere?” he asked.

 

 

“It’s round the back, in one of the old genny sheds. Terry does odd jobs for people – fixes things up, bit of weldin’ an’ that. Breaks safes, strongboxes, you know the sorta thing.”

 

 

Chris nodded, not entirely knowing at all. Then he fell into step with Ray. They walked around the end of the building, Chris trying to tread in the new snow – leaving perfect footprints.

 

 

“Jus’ go easy, right? Sometimes he can be ‘elpful, but only if we don’t push. An’ it suits us that way – we need people like ‘im, even if he is scum ‘n all.”

 

 

Chris nodded again, pretty certain he would be letting Ray doing all of the talking.

 

 

There were a few buildings around the back of the main factory, obviously once storerooms or other outhouses. Chris peered at some of the signs – all covered in snow now – and identified them as other small workshops and businesses. None of them looked inhabited today though.

 

 

“So why…” Chris never got to finish his question, as Ray slammed into him, knocking him to the ground. At first Chris tried to fight back, thinking this was another one of Ray’s silly games, trying to get him into the snow.

 

 

Then a loud bang resulted in pieces of brick showering down on them both.

 

 

Chris could feel Ray’s body on top of his, Ray’s hand in his hair, keeping his head down. The cold was seeping in through his clothes as he lay in the snow and slush.

 

 

“Jesus Christ,” Ray peered under the old car they’d landed behind, not moving off Chris. His heart pounded, he had never expected there to be any trouble – he would never have dragged Chris into anywhere that was dangerous.

 

 

“Why…Are they shootin’ at us?” Chris tried to turn around to look at Ray, eyes wide.

 

 

“Jus’…keep down. I dunno…look, go…just…” Ray looked around, then decided they could make it behind the nearest building. “Keep low, right? Keep right down low an’ move fast – get to be’ind that wall.”

 

 

Chris nodded, but he was shaking with fear.

 

 

“We can get out, right? We just gotta move.” Ray peered out through the car windows as Chris got to his feet, then laid his hand on Chris’s back. “You’ll be okay, right? Jus’ get to that wall, then stop.” He patted Chris, trying to reassure him. “Okay…go.”

 

 

Chris ran, head down. Ray was beside him – shielding him from the gunman, pushing him along. Chris was scared, not just for himself, he realised, but for Ray.

 

 

They skidded to a stop behind the wall, Chris looked at Ray, eyes wide, wrapping his arms around himself. He was wet now, not to mention cold and terrified. Ray kept one hand on Chris’s arm, needing the contact so that he knew exactly where Chris was. He risked a look around the end of the wall, spotting the man he’d seen originally, the one who had given him the chance to shove Chris behind the car. He recognised the face, and knew that there was no point trying anything – they would have been pegged as police.

 

 

“Oi, rozzers, you ain’t goin’ nowhere,” a voice called out. “Give yourselves up.”

 

 

Chris could feel his heart hammering in his chest. He hoped Ray would know what to do.

 

 

Ray looked around – there was a high wall that he knew he could probably get Chris over, otherwise the only way out was the way they had come in – which involved getting across a wide swathe of open ground.

 

 

“C’mon, I can chuck you over that wall, yeah?” Ray gestured. “When we get there, let me give you a leg up, pull yourself up, drop the other side – quick as you can, right?”

 

 

Chris nodded, then frowned. “What about you?”

 

 

“I’ll make a run for it. You get around to the factory, call for help, right?”

 

 

Chris shook his head. “No, no, I ain’t leavin’ you,” his eyes were wide with fear. “I won’t.”

 

 

“Don’t be a div! Once you’re over the wall you’re safe, right?”

 

 

“But you ain’t – we’re a team, I ain’t leavin’ you.”

 

 

“Fer Christsake, Chris – just go!” Ray hissed.

 

 

“Not without you!”

 

 

Ray stared at Chris, knowing his indecision was costing them time – which could in turn cost their lives.


	17. Chapter 17

Ray shook his head in despair. “Come on then, keep low, keep moving, don’t run in a straight line, ‘kay?”

 

 

Chris nodded earnestly, then started moving, Ray’s hand a reassuring presence on his back.

 

 

They got two buildings further before Ray grabbed Chris’s coat, stopping him dead. Chris looked up to see a man standing in their path, a pistol in his hand. Ray glanced behind them to see another man.

 

 

“Shit,” he breathed, standing up straight, arms held out to his sides. He knew he couldn’t take any risks.

 

 

“Come with us,” one of them said, gesturing with the gun.

 

 

Chris looked at Ray who nodded once, knowing there was no point risking anything yet, and wishing Chris had just listened to him in the first place.

 

 

“So what’s it all about then, Coxy?” Ray asked as they walked back toward their original destination. “Bit out of your league, innit?”

 

 

“You know ‘im?” the other gunman asked.

 

 

“Oh yeah, me an’ Coxy go back a bit,” Ray answered. “I knew ‘im when he used to mug old ladies. Always been a brave boy, ain’t you?”

 

 

“Just shut up and move,” Coxy answered, angrily.

 

 

They walked into the small workshop, where a man looked up nervously at them.

 

 

“Terry,” Ray nodded in acknowledgement.

 

 

“Mister Carlin’, what brings you ‘ere?”

 

 

Chris looked from Ray to the man sitting at the workbench, not believing they could be having such a normal conversation under the circumstances.

 

 

“Business. Not this sort though. Di’n’t know you’d ‘ave company.”

 

 

“Shut up!” Coxy barked. “And you, keep workin’,” he waved his gun at Terry.

 

 

“What’ll we do with these?” the other man asked, gesturing to Ray and Chris. “They know you.”

 

 

“I dunno. Shit, fuckin’ coppers.” He threw a punch that caught Ray on the jaw.

 

 

Ray tried not to react, barely flinching. He kept his gaze steady on the other man.

 

 

“We’ll…take ‘em into the stores next door…no one’ll hear the shots…”

 

 

The man Ray was watching visibly paled. “No way, I ain’t being a part of that…I ain’t killing coppers, Coxy, that ain’t what I signed up for. Money’s what you said – that’s all.”

 

 

Chris could feel bile rising in his throat as he realised just how serious their situation was. He didn’t think he’d ever been more terrified in his life. Ray was standing in front of him, acting as if he were completely calm and collected, chewing his gum and showing no nerves. He felt like crying, but he knew he couldn’t. He focussed on where Ray’s hair curled over his collar, trying to distract himself from the situation, to think of anything that wasn’t their impending deaths.

 

 

“Fuckin’ hell…well jus’…shove ‘em in there, we’ll be well away ‘fore anyone finds ‘em, right?” Coxy frowned at Ray and Chris, then smiled. “Handcuff ‘em first.”

 

 

The other man searched Ray, confiscating his penknife and finding the handcuffs in his pocket. “Always wanted to do this,” he grinned, almost giggling as he snapped the handcuffs around Ray’s wrists and closed them tightly. Then he moved to Chris, who flinched as the man patted him down.

 

 

“I…I ain’t got mine,” Chris shot a look at Ray, knowing that normally he’d be in trouble. “I left ‘em at the station.”

 

 

“Oh fer…” Coxy looked around and grabbed some rope from a nearby hook. “Use that instead.”

 

 

The man tied Chris’s wrists behind him tightly, then Coxy turned and shoved his gun into the side of Terry’s head. “You keep workin’ while we get rid of these two, right?”

 

 

Terry nodded, his eyes wide, and Ray almost felt sorry for him. It was obvious that whatever happened to him, it wouldn’t be good.

 

 

They were shoved outside, guns pressed into their sides. Chris nervously glanced at Ray, watching, just in case he was going to do something, like in the movies – a sudden escape plan, involving daring kung-fu moves, which would incapacitate their captors.

 

 

He didn’t know if he was happy or sad when they reached the storeroom without incident. He was shoved inside the damp, freezing room and turned, watching as Coxy slammed Ray into the wall, one hand in Ray’s hair.

 

 

“Jus’ remember, copper, we can find you, an’ we can make sure you end up where no one’ll find your body…so just forget you seen us, right?”

 

 

“Get fucked,” Ray snarled, struggling against the hands that held him.

 

 

Coxy slammed Ray’s head into the brickwork again. “You’ll regret it if you don’t,” he growled. “You an’ yer friend.”

 

 

Ray was shoved into the small room and the door was firmly closed behind him, the sound of metal locks being dragged into place clearly audible.

 

 

Chris stood, frozen, trying to make Ray’s figure out in the gloom. He could just see that Ray was leaning against the far wall, hands up to his face, and moved to be near him. He desperately wanted to talk to Ray, to ask him what they should do, how they were going to escape. But he didn’t ask, because he was terrified that Ray wouldn’t know the answers any more than he did.

 

 

After a few minutes Ray had got his breath back and reigned in his temper slightly after punching the wall hard.

 

 

“’M sorry,” he said softly. “I didn’t…I wouldn’t ‘ave bought you ‘ere, if I’d thought it’d be dangerous.”

 

 

Chris frowned. “I’m all right. I mean…we’ll be all right.” He tried to make it sound reassuring, but it came out more like a question.

 

 

“Yeah,” Ray nodded. “Yeah, someone’ll find us in no time.”

 

 

“What…what should we do?” Chris asked, looking around, trying to identify what else was in the small dark room.

 

 

Ray squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop the dancing flashes of light snaking across his vision. He could feel himself shaking and told himself it was because of the cold, not because he had been terrified that Chris could get hurt.

 

 

“Come here, turn around. I can probably undo the ropes,” Ray said, once he was thinking clearly.

 

 

Chris turned around and backed up to Ray. He felt Ray’s fingers trace over his hands, then feel around the rope and knots. As Ray tugged on the bonds Chris’s fingers brushed against Ray’s stomach. Finally, Ray managed to loosen the knot and Chris struggled free, letting the rope fall to the floor as he rubbed his reddened wrists. He smiled, then looked down at Ray’s wrists, the handcuffs glinting in the light.

 

 

“What about you?” he asked.

 

 

Ray shrugged. “Just ‘ave to wait, won’t I? Let’s check the door.”

 

 

Chris nodded and obediently pushed and pulled on the door, trying to squint through any tiny gaps he could, and feel for any handles. Eventually he gave up, turning to see that Ray was now half-sitting on one of the random crates stacked here and there. As his eyes grew accustomed to the dim light, he could see that there was a dark smudge on the side of Ray’s face.

 

 

“Are you okay?” Chris frowned.

 

 

“What? Yeah, yeah, fine,” Ray smiled, trying to put on a brave face for Chris. “An’ we’ll be out of ‘ere soon. Someone’ll find the car, an’ then us.”

 

 

Chris reached out and touched Ray’s face, his fingers coming away wet.

 

 

“You’re bleeding!” he said, reaching in his pocket for his handkerchief and, without thinking, sliding one hand onto Ray’s cheek and pressing the hankie gently against Ray’s eye socket.

 

 

Ray couldn’t help but flinch at first, but then he relaxed into the relative warmth of Chris’s hand and let his eyes slide closed.

 

 

Chris found he was smiling to himself. He didn’t want Ray to be hurt, but he knew there was no other way he would have got to slide his fingers into Ray’s soft hair, or rub his thumb against the slight stubble between Ray’s sideburn and ‘tache. It sounded stupid, even to himself, but he’d always found he wanted to be close to Ray. When Ray threw an arm around him, half-cut in the pub, he always wanted to hug Ray back. But, he knew he couldn’t, because mates just didn’t do that. So he got drunk too, and then Ray would support him, drag him home, almost carry him, because Chris knew now just how much to stagger, and how he could hang from Ray’s shoulders and let Ray slip an arm around his waist. He didn’t care that the others in the office made jibes about him being a lightweight, or laughed that he couldn’t take his drink, because he knew exactly what he was doing, and even those too-short minutes of being close to Ray were worth all the ribbing and piss-taking in the world.

 

 

“How d’you know him then?” Chris asked. “Coxy, I mean,”

 

 

“Nicked ‘im a few times,” Ray answered. “Blags, the usual. Di’n’t even know he were out of prison.”

 

 

Chris nodded, then sank down next to Ray, his shoulder brushing against Ray’s. He looked at the floor, scuffing his toe around in the dirt.

 

 

“What shall we do now?” he asked.

 

 

Ray shrugged. “Get comfortable.”

 

 

Chris gave a small smile and looked around. The shed didn’t have much to offer, but Chris decided to search through the boxes and see what he could find. He pulled the rough timber lids off them, but found they were either empty or stored what looked like spare parts to some sort of machinery.

 

 

“Get them lids and we’ll put ’em on the floor,” Ray said. “If we sit on ‘em at least it’ll stop us gettin’ cold on the concrete floor. See if there’s owt else we can use to keep warm an’ all.”

 

 

Chris nodded and did as he was told, but he couldn’t find anything, so shrugged his apology. Ray sat on the floor, legs crossed, and tried to move his arms slightly, his muscles already complaining.

 

 

The room was freezing, and Chris sat down on the wood, hugging his arms around his knees, trying to stop his shivers. He rubbed his hands up and down his arms in an attempt to generate some heat.

 

 

“You okay?” Ray asked.

 

 

Chris nodded.

 

 

Ray moved closer to him, pressing against Chris in the hope they could share a little bit of warmth. “Cold?” he asked.

 

 

Chris nodded again, trying to prevent his teeth from chattering.

 

 

“Come ‘ere,” Ray gestured. “Sit between me legs so I can keep you warm.”

 

 

Chris felt his heart almost skip a beat, then he scooted around, sliding himself in between Ray’s legs, allowing Ray to encircle him in his arms. He immediately felt not only warmer, but also safer and a little more relaxed.

 

 

Ray tipped his head back, resting it against the rough wood. Chris was curled up against him, snuggled into his arms. His hair was just a few short millimetres from Ray’s face, and Ray could smell the shampoo he used. He tightened his grip on Chris, and felt as the tremors running through the other man decreased, then stopped altogether.

 

 

“Better?” he said in a low voice.

 

 

Chris nodded. He was terrified to move, in case he did something which somehow wasn’t acceptable. He wanted to slide his hands over Ray’s, to rest his head back on Ray’s shoulder, to turn slightly and slide a hand around Ray’s waist, but he knew that blokes didn’t do that. Sometimes he wondered if his brain was wired in right, because whilst everyone else was talking about birds and tits and what they’d like to do to whichever woman was on page three, he’d never really felt like that towards them. He liked girls, they were fun, and he could see they were pretty – Annie, for example, was pretty. And she was friendly. And that was all Chris ever wanted – people to be friendly. He loved Annie and cared for her, but more like a sister. He’d never wanted to hug Annie, or kiss her. 

 

 

And he supposed that was the problem. He actually had imagined what it might be like to kiss Ray. He felt guilty, but he couldn’t help thinking about it. What it would be like to slid his hand over Ray’s skin, over the hair on his chest? What it would feel like to be held in Ray’s muscular arms, skin against skin? He swallowed and tried to think about something – anything – else, because the urge to turn around and taste Ray’s lips was almost too much.

 

 

Ray wished he could hold Chris better, but the handcuffs gave him only very limited movement, and each time he shifted, the pain in his wrists reminded him just how tight they were. He felt the uncomfortable beginnings of pins and needles starting and tried to slide the steel around his wrist, wincing as he did so.

 

 

“You okay?” Chris asked.

 

 

“Gettin’ pins and needles,” Ray answered, flexing his fingers.

 

 

Chris hesitated, then took Ray’s hand in his, gently rubbing his thumb over Ray’s skin, trying to help the circulation. Ray’s hands were rough, the skin on his knuckles hard and scarred from years of throwing punches. Chris savoured every moment of contact, needed to remember every detail. He knew he would never get another chance.

 

 

 

The hours passed by slowly, and Ray knew there was nothing they could do but bide their time. He had some small hope that Terry would somehow get free and alert someone to their predicament, and he knew that someone would eventually notice his car outside the factory and realise it shouldn’t be there. He just didn’t know how long it would take. All the tiny cracks of light that had been visible had long faded to black, and the temperature was dropping. Ray was beginning to wonder if they might be forced to spend the night in their prison. His feet were freezing, but Chris’s body provided him with some much-needed warmth.

 

 

“’S Valentine’s Day this week,” Chris murmured suddenly, breaking the silence. “You got a date?”

 

 

Ray smiled, wishing he did and simultaneously hoping Chris didn’t. “Nah. Save me money this year.”

 

 

Chris nodded. “Me neither. Would you…wanna go for a drink, like? I mean, y’know, be single…together?”

 

 

“Yeah, okay,” Ray answered, his fantasy being answered, yet not answered, in one simple question.

 

 

“I don’t like it,” Chris murmured.

 

 

“What?” Ray asked.

 

 

“Valentine’s. ‘S like…sayin’ you don’t put the effort in the rest of the year, ain’t it?”

 

 

Ray gave a huff of laughter. “Yeah, I s’pose it is, in a way.”

 

 

Chris nodded and shifted, wrapping his arms around himself more tightly.

 

 

Ray felt Chris begin to doze off, his head lolling and his body relaxing even further into Ray’s own, neck at an awkward angle.

 

 

“Hey, why don’t you get more comfortable,” he said softly.

 

 

Chris twisted around, pulling his jacket around him more closely, resting his cheek against the solidity of Ray’s shoulder. He felt Ray hold onto him, so he finally slid his hand around Ray’s waist, into the warmth between Ray’s body and his jacket.

 

 

Ray shivered a little, then rested his cheek against Chris’s forehead, and, without thinking, he turned slightly and pressed his lips into Chris’s silky hair.

 

 

Chris’s eyes snapped open, but he didn’t move. He wasn’t even entirely sure he’d just felt what he thought he had. And if he had, he didn’t have a clue what to do about it. His fantasies had never included being trapped in a horrible, cold storeroom. In fact, his fantasies had never got much beyond imagining Ray helping him home one night, and when they reached his small bedroom – his parents having gone out for the night – he had dreamt of reaching up and kissing Ray – properly kissing him, with tongues, like girls had kissed him before. Then they would have fallen into bed together and Ray would have held him, like he was now, and they would have fallen asleep in each other’s arms. Chris knew it wasn’t the most racy of fantasies, but most of his sex education had come from watching pornos that the squad had confiscated, and he was pretty sure that Ray wouldn’t be playing the part of the girl, so that left him. And he didn’t really have a clue as to how it all worked.

 

 

 

Ray was almost dozing off himself when there was a sudden noise outside, the heavy crunch of bolt-croppers and the tortured squeal of metal on metal. Chris woke with a start, pushing himself away from Ray, forgetting that Ray’s wrists were still secured and getting himself tangled up. He was just staggering to his feet when the door swung open and torch beams cut through the darkness.


	18. Chapter 18

“Chris!”

 

 

Gene’s voice was unmistakable, and Chris squinted against the light, holding his hand up to shield his eyes.

 

 

“Guv,” Chris could feel himself shaking, and he wasn’t sure if it was the cold or the relief.

 

 

“Christ, Ray? What the fuck ‘appened? We found Davis out cold an’ tied up in his workshop ‘n all.”

 

 

“It were Martin Cox, an’ another kid I ain’t seen before. Dunno what they wanted with Terry, but they ‘ad a gun to ‘is head ‘fore we got ‘ere.” Ray was trying to struggle to his feet, and Gene quickly grabbed his arm and pulled him upright.

 

 

“What’s he up to, then?” Gene wondered out loud. “’Ardly his scene, is it?”

 

 

Ray shrugged. “Seems like he’s grown up.”

 

 

Gene looked down at Ray’s wrists and swore, fumbling in his pockets for his own keys. He freed Ray, trying to ignore the red welts around his sergeant’s wrists.

 

 

“So where’ve they gone? Why were they ‘ere?”

 

 

Chris watched wide-eyed as Ray told Gene everything – including all the information he’d taken in during the few short moments they had been in the workshop – most of which Chris had no idea how Ray had noticed. All he could hear, though, were Coxy’s warning words to Ray. He wanted to tell Ray to shut up, to remember the threats, but he knew that Ray wouldn’t listen.

 

 

 

Chris sat in the passenger seat of Ray’s car, pushing himself tight against the door. He wrapped his arms around himself, still feeling cold despite the heater being on full. He watched Ray with a steady gaze, taking in Ray’s set jaw, his hands clenched tight on the steering wheel, the dark bruises and scrapes on his face where the brickwork had left its mark and the cuts on his wrists. It was obvious that Ray was angry, and Chris wished he could have back the Ray who had been with him earlier – the one who was gentle and loving. The one he’d been too scared to acknowledge.

 

 

“D’you…want a drink, after?” Chris asked quietly.

 

 

Ray glanced across at him, then looked back at the road ahead. “Yeah, yeah, I s’pose.”

 

 

“D’you…want to come to mine?” Chris asked. “Only, me parent’s’re away, an’…it’d be…nice. I got beers an’ all.”

 

 

Ray looked at him again, then nodded once. “Yeah, ‘kay.”

 

 

He didn’t want to think of Chris going home alone, getting scared. He didn’t want to go home alone either, if he was truthful.

 

 

 

It didn’t take long for things to be wrapped up at the station, then Ray led Chris back down to the car and drove them to Chris’s parent’s.

 

 

As they walked up to Chris’s front door Ray looked up at the darkened building. He watched as Chris fumbled with his keys, then pushed the door open.

 

 

“Make yerself at ‘ome,” Chris said. “You want a beer?”

 

 

“Got anything stronger?” Ray asked.

 

 

Chris nodded and headed to the kitchen. Ray sank onto the sofa and rubbed his hands over his face. His wrists still felt tender each time his shirt cuffs rubbed over them, and the fabric held the tinge of pink, even after he’d tried to wash the blood out.

 

 

Chris returned with a beer for himself and a bottle of scotch for Ray, then sat on the seat, resting back onto the cushions and letting out a sigh.

 

 

“You okay?” Ray asked, breaking the silence.

 

 

Chris nodded. “Jus’…thought we’d be stuck there all night or summat. Thought…thought he was goin’ to…”

 

 

“It’s all talk, Chris. They all make threats. Learn t’ignore ‘em – you ‘ave to.”

 

 

“I don’t…you’re so calm. I can’t be like that.”

 

 

Ray shrugged. “You’ll get used to it.”

 

 

The silence stretched between them, but it was comfortable, both of them allowing the alcohol to help them unwind.

 

 

“You ever thought of movin’ out?” Ray asked.

 

 

The room they were sitting in was comfortable, but showed that the occupants were older. It wasn’t the sort of place Ray could imagine Chris taking a girl home to.

 

 

Chris looked around and shrugged. “Not really. Can’t afford a place on me own – an’ me Mum and Dad don’t mind me bein’ ‘ere. Mum still does all me washin’ an’ cooks for me an’ all,” he gave a cheeky smile.

 

 

Ray nodded. He didn’t have any memories of happy home life, and had spent his life convinced that families were nothing but a burden.

 

 

“S’pose you think I’m too old t’be livin’ at home still,” Chris said, not looking at Ray.

 

 

“Nah,” Ray shook his head. “Bit jealous, maybe,” he smiled, trying to cheer Chris up.

 

 

“Really?” Chris gave a small grin back.

 

 

“But ’f you ever want a bit of…y’know, get out a bit, you know you can come ‘round mine, right?”

 

 

Chris’s face lit up. “Really?”

 

 

“’Course. You want a break from your parents, jus’ drop ‘round. You don’t need an invite.”

 

 

Chris nodded enthusiastically. As much as he loved his Mum and Dad there were times when he wished he didn’t still live with them and could be a bit more independent.

 

 

Ray poured himself another few fingers of whisky and yawned widely. Chris gave a small smile, stifling a yawn himself. A glance at the clock on the mantelpiece told him it was long past midnight.

 

 

“You want t’ stay ere tonight?” Chris offered. “You can ‘ave my room, I can kip in Mum an’ Dad’s.”

 

 

Ray, too, glanced at the clock and knew he should really refuse and get home. But the thought of sleeping in Chris’s bed, surrounded by his smell, was too strong a pull. He nodded slowly. “Yeah, cheers.”

 

 

It was another half hour before Chris finally led the way up the stairs and pushed open the door to his small room. He hurriedly pushed some of the discarded clothes into a pile in the corner and pulled the covers on the bed straight, then turned to Ray, smiling.

 

 

“Bathroom’s next door along, ‘kay?”

 

 

Ray nodded. Chris’s room was full of clutter, a perfect representation of Chris, with its mix of childhood leftovers and the few trappings of adult life.

 

 

Ray kicked off his shoes and shrugged out of his jacket, then headed for the bathroom. Chris wandered around, fetching things from his room and hanging about, checking that Ray was okay.

 

 

“Anything you want?” he asked as Ray came out of the bathroom.

 

 

“Nah,” Ray reached out before he’d even thought was he was doing and pushed his fingers through Chris’s floppy hair. “Don’t ‘ave nightmares, will you?” he grinned.

 

 

Chris smiled back, self consciously, pushing his hair back into some sort of order. “I’ll see you in the mornin’,” he said.

 

 

 

Ray stripped down to his underwear and settled under the blankets, smelling Chris’s unique scent and smiling. He pulled the covers up snugly around himself, trying to imagine it was Chris hugging him and then smiling as he felt like some love-sick teenager.

 

 

 

Chris lay in his parent’s bed, thinking about the man in the room next door. Ray confused him – one minute he was all fists and fighting, caustic remarks and pouring out scorn, the next he’d come out with some affectionate gesture which seemed completely out of place, like ruffling Chris’s hair. But then, a lot of people confused Chris, it was just he didn’t care about most of them like he cared about Ray.

 

 

He fell asleep imagining Ray next door, tucked up in his bed, looking like he had back in his own flat, when Chris had watched him sleeping on the sofa. He could still picture every tattoo, could still imagine the way his face looked in sleep. He slid his hand down between his legs, running his fingers over his semi-hard penis, then quickly withdrew it. He was in his parent’s bed, after all, and that seemed more wrong than the fact he was thinking about his sergeant.

 

 

***

 

 

The next night, his parents home safely and pottering around downstairs, Chris stayed in his bedroom. The bed was untouched, as yet, and Chris sat on the chair by his small desk and looked at it. The cover had been pulled straight, but there was still a dip in the pillow where Ray’s head had rested. Chris closed his eyes and could imagine what Ray must have looked like. He pictured the strong arms. Maybe one held the pillow, the other out of the cover. The pictures on Ray’s bicep would have been clearly visible. Then, under the covers, Ray’s almost-naked body. Chris shifted slightly and pushed his palm against his stiffening cock, trying to adjust himself into a more comfortable position within the tightness of his trousers.

 

 

***

 

 

Chris swallowed down the last of his tea and put his mug in the sink. A glance at his watch told him Ray was due any minute, so he went outside to wait, leaning against the doorframe, watching for the car lights approaching. He wrapped his arms around himself, trying to ward off the cold. He wondered if anyone in the office would get any secret valentines. He remembered some of the WPCs had received cards the year before and the excitement they’d had trying to work out who the senders might be. There was only one person he wanted one from, and knew there was no chance of that happening. But, he did have his ‘date’ to look forward to. Just the two of them, without the rest of the squad. He smiled to himself.

 

 

Five minutes later there was still no sign of Ray and Chris was beginning to shiver. It wasn’t the first time Ray had been late, although it was rare. He wondered if he should go back inside, but knew that Ray would arrive as soon as he did. After another five minutes, however, he gave up and let himself back into the house.

 

 

“Chris? I thought you’d gone,” his Mum said as she bustled around the kitchen in her lilac dressing gown.

 

 

“Ray’s late. I’m gonna call ‘im,” Chris answered, picking up the telephone and looking in his notebook for the number.

 

 

 

Ray shivered as the cold early morning breeze ruffled his hair. As he ran down the steps from his flat only his footfalls broke the silence. The first light of dawn was just touching the clouds, tinting their edges a gentle pink against the grey. In the dark car park below, a fox darted away from one set of bins and headed for another, in search of a good meal.

 

 

As Ray exited the stairwell he looked down at his keys, trying to pick his car key out in the gloom.

 

 

He barely made a sound as the steel bar connected with the back of his skull, but the dull thud as he hit the tarmac and the jangle of his keys falling to the ground startled the fox, and it gave up its night of scrounging, running away into the shadows.

 

 

***

 

 

Chris let the phone ring for a long time, hoping to rouse Ray if he had overslept. Finally he hung up though, certain Ray would have answered had he been there.

 

 

“He must be on his way then,” his Mother smiled.

 

 

Chris nodded, checking his watch again. He was definitely going to be late now, but he supposed the Guv wouldn’t mind.

 

 

Ten minutes later, however, he was worried. “Mum, I’m gonna go an’ get the bus. If Ray turns up, can you tell ‘im I couldn’t wait?”

 

 

“Of course, dear. Have you got change for your fare?”

 

 

Chris nodded and almost ran out of the door. It was one thing facing the Guv for a dressing down about time-keeping when Ray was by his side; it was another to do it on his own.

 

 

 

When he arrived at the office, he immediately looked towards Ray’s desk. It was untouched, same as they had left it the night before.

 

 

“Ah, afternoon, Tweedledum. I don’t suppose Tweedledee is far behind you?” Gene said coldly.

 

 

Chris looked blank for a second, then shook his head. “He – I mean, Ray was meant to pick me up, but he didn’t turn up. I ‘ad to get the bus.”

 

 

Gene rolled his eyes. “Well you’re not going to be much use on your own. So, I suggest you stay here and get your reports done while you wait for him to drag himself out of whichever tart’s bed he’s ended up in. You have tried to call him, I suppose?”

 

 

Chris nodded. “No answer at his place, Guv.” He didn’t want to think about Ray being with a girlfriend, but he supposed the Guv was probably right in his assessment of the situation.

 

 

Gene snorted and headed back into his office. He knew he was being a little unfair to Ray – he was about the only officer that Gene was certain wouldn’t be laid in bed with some girl, although he supposed it was possible Ray had found himself a bloke for the night instead. He shook his head, trying to rid himself of the mental image.

 

 

 

After an hour had passed with no sign of his missing sergeant, Gene shrugged on his coat and strode through the office.

 

 

“Skelton, with me,” he ordered, not pausing to wait for Chris, who was scrambling to grab his coat and notepad.

 

 

“Where are we going, Guv?” Chris asked as he followed Gene down the stairs.

 

 

“To find that good-for-nothing bastard and drag him to work,” Gene answered, covering up the slight hint of worry he felt with a show of anger.


	19. Chapter 19

They pulled up in the car park and Chris immediately spotted Ray’s car. He climbed out and walked over to the vehicle, trying the door handles.

 

 

Gene rubbed away some of the frost on the windows and peered inside the car, but there was nothing unusual – discarded food wrappers, Ray’s football scarf, and one of Chris’s magazines.

 

 

“Well he can’t be far away then, can he?” he said, noting that the windscreen was still covered in frost – the building casting its long shadow over the vehicles - and there was no way the car could have been driven that morning.

 

 

Gene led the way to the lift and it quickly took them to Ray’s floor. Gene strode along the landing, noting that the wind felt much colder high up on the building. He reached Ray’s front door and thumped on it hard.

 

 

“Carling!” he shouted, trying to peer in through the patterned glass.

 

 

There were no sounds or movement, so Chris wandered to look in through the other windows, but the nets obscured most things and there was no sign of anyone in the darkness.

 

 

He turned to Gene and shrugged. “Don’t look like ‘e’s here, Guv.”

 

 

Gene looked around and nodded, chewing his bottom lip. “There should be a caretaker or something, come on.”

 

 

They headed along the landing and Chris gestured to the stairs. “Ray never takes the lift, maybe we should walk, jus’ in case there’s summat…”

 

 

Gene nodded and followed Chris down the steps, glancing around for any clues.

 

 

When they reached the bottom floor Gene found the small office that was marked ‘caretaker’ and thumped on the door. The office was empty, but the door of the next door flat opened and an old man looked out. “Yeah?”

 

 

“You the caretaker?” Gene asked, flashing his warrant card.

 

 

“That’d be me, aye,” the man nodded slowly.

 

 

“We’re lookin’ for the bloke lives in number seventy-five. That’s his car,” Gene pointed out across the tarmac.

 

 

The man shrugged. “Don’t know, mate.”

 

 

“You got keys to the flats?” Gene asked.

 

 

“No. Private flats, ain’t they? An’ I couldn’t go givin’ ‘em out even if I did.”

 

 

Gene tried to hang on to his temper, but could feel his fists clenching, wanting to grab the man by his dirty vest and slam him back against the wall.

 

 

“Milkman ‘anded these in ‘s mornin’ though,” the man turned back inside his front door and retrieved a bunch of keys. “Never know your luck. Could try ‘em in the car. ‘S the right make.”

 

 

Chris stared at the familiar bunch of keys. “They’re Ray’s,” he said without hesitation.

 

 

Gene’s head snapped around. “You sure?”

 

 

Chris held out his hand and took the keys, nodding. “Yeah, car, front door, locker an’ desk,” he counted them off. The leather key fob was well worn and soft in his fingers and he held it tightly, looking at Gene.

 

 

“They were found this morning?” Gene asked. “When?”

 

 

The man shrugged and looked at his watch. “It were early. I’d only jus’ got up. About…’alf six?”

 

 

Chris found himself nodding. “He normally picks me up about then – so he’d leave ‘ere at…I dunno, quarter past?”

 

 

“Did they say where they found them?” Gene asked.

 

 

“Bottom of the stairs,” the man gestured.

 

 

Gene frowned, looking from the keys to the car, then up to the building that towered above them. A horrible feeling was growing inside him that all was not well.

 

 

He walked to the bottom of the steps and looked around at the ground, bending down and examining the tarmac, but finding no signs of any struggle or scuff marks.

 

 

“Come on,” he beckoned Chris. “We’ll ‘ave a look in ‘is flat.”

 

 

 

It felt wrong to Chris being in Ray’s flat without being invited. He stood in the sitting room, looking around, watching as Gene walked from the kitchen to the bedroom. Chris finally moved, dragging his eyes away from the sofa, where he could so clearly remember Ray sleeping, sprawled out. He stood in the bedroom doorway watching as Gene picked up a shirt from the floor. “He was wearing that yesterday,” Chris said, not even realising he knew it until he’d already said it.

 

 

“He’s been back ‘ere then,” Gene nodded. Then he looked at the bed. He hesitated before shoving his hand under the blankets. He wasn’t certain, but he thought he could still detect a hint of warmth. He looked at his watch. It would have been over two hours since Ray should have got up, possibly three. He couldn’t be sure he wasn’t just deluding himself.

 

 

Chris looked into the bathroom and noticed the water around the sink. He reached out and touched the shaving brush, his fingers coming away wet. The flannel was also wet, hanging over the taps.

 

 

“Guv,” he called. “’S all been used – toothbrush, shaving kit, flannel.”

 

 

Gene stood in the sitting room again and nodded. He walked over to the telephone, which sat next to the sofa, and dialled the station.

 

 

“Phyllis, it’s Hunt. Need to radio all units, DS Carling’s gone missing. I want this city turned upside down. No one knocks off until we find ‘im.”

 

 

Chris looked around, fear rising within him. The Guv was obviously worried, and that meant things were clearly very bad.

 

 

He waited until Gene had finished giving instructions over the telephone, then spoke up. “Martin Cox, Guv. He said, if Ray, if we said anythin’, then he’d regret it – he’d kill us. An’ then, well, we’ve been askin’ questions an’ he must know Ray said summat.”

 

 

“Why didn’t you say something before?” Gene asked, anger clear on his face.

 

 

“I di’n’t…I don’t think Ray took ‘im serious, I mean…they were jus’…it was threats, lots of people make threats, Ray weren’t bothered.”

 

 

“Right, come on, back to the station. I want everyone who’s ever fuckin’ met Martin Cox brought in.”

 

 

***

 

 

Chris watched as person after person was dragged into the station, then he followed Gene out onto the streets. Blood was spilled, threats made, teeth broken, but still no one admitted to knowing anything. Chris felt impotent – he wanted to plead and beg, but he knew he couldn’t – Ray wouldn’t want him to, either. Besides, people like Coxy and his mates didn’t have a soft side to appeal to.

 

 

Finally Gene did get an address though, after one of Coxy’s associates gave it up along with a few teeth. Half of CID seemed to be there for the raid, despite it being well into the evening. Chris was pleased, as well as terrified, because it meant other people cared about Ray too.

 

 

As the door splintered Chris’s hopes soared, and he scrambled to be one of the first into the house. Bodies poured in, officers running up the stairs and smashing down more doors. But when a relative calm had fallen, there was only Martin Cox, a woman, and the fury rolling off Gene.

 

 

“Where is he you bastard?” Gene lifted Coxy off the floor and slammed him back into the wall, jamming his knee into the man’s groin.

 

 

“Who?” There was fear in Cox’s eyes as he glanced around the room, looking at all the officers towering above him and knowing it was no normal raid.

 

 

Gene answered by punching Cox so hard his head bounced off the wall. Then he shoved the man onto the floor.

 

 

“Where the fuck is he?” he hissed.

 

 

“Dunno what you’re talkin’ ‘bout Mr. ‘Unt,” Cox whined, looking nervously at Gene’s foot, which was poised to kick him. “I don’t, honest.”

 

 

Gene gripped Cox’s throat, ignoring the terrified squeaks of the woman. “DS Carling. Where is he, you scrote?”

 

 

“I ain’t done nothin’, I ain’t! I don’t know, honest,” Coxy’s voice wavered, the fear obvious.

 

 

Gene finally swung his foot into Cox’s stomach, then gestured to a couple of the officers. “Bring him in.”

 

 

Chris looked up at Gene, his eyes wide. “Guv?”

 

 

“He doesn’t know fuck all, Chris,” Gene sighed, rubbing his hand over his face.

 

 

“But he ‘as to – Guv?” Chris could feel his lip begin to wobble, torn between anger and despair that Gene could possibly give up that easily.

 

 

“Well, if it were him then he ain’t got Ray now. Go ‘ome, he’ll spend the night in the cells, tomorrow…tomorrow we’ll start again.

 

 

Chris looked at his watch. By the time they were all home it would almost be time to start work again, and he supposed there was nothing they could do to help Ray now, anyway.

 

 

He rode back to the station with Gene, slumped silently in the passenger seat, not looking at the outside world.

 

 

He waited whilst Cox was booked in, then followed Gene up to the office to collect a couple of things.

 

 

“Come on, I’ll give you a lift back to yours,” Gene said, knowing that usually Ray did that job.

 

 

Chris gave a small smile. “Thanks Guv.”

 

 

Gene glanced over the papers on his desk and noticed a new note, scrawled on a scrap of paper.

 

 

‘Landlord of Black Swan says call him back tonight’ and a number scrawled underneath.

 

 

Gene looked at his watch, then picked up the phone. It rang a few times at the other end before someone picked it up.

 

 

“’Ello?”

 

 

“DCI Gene Hunt. Got a message to call you.”

 

 

“Mr. ‘Unt, it’s Geoff Milner, you remember? Anyway, I don’t know…I mean…this could be nowt, right? But there was some lads in ‘ere tonight, an’ me barmaid – good girl, she is – she ‘eard ‘em sayin’ stuff, she thought…she thought they said summat about a copper, an’ ‘ow they was gonna give ‘im what he deserved. She ain’t sure, mind, but I ‘eard on the evening news a copper out’ve your nick ‘ad gone missin’ an’, well, I thought you’d want to know, like.”

 

 

“Who were they? Whatever you know about them, tell me.”

 

 

“There’s four of ‘em, all…thirties, I’d say. I think one of them ‘ad just come out’ve prison, maybe? I ain’t sure on that one. I ‘ad other customers, see, an’ it were only when Lilly told me what she thought she’d ‘eard, collecting glasses, that I started takin’ notice of ‘em. They went off towards the estate. I asked a couple of my regulars an’ one of ‘em reckons they come from near the football ground. They were happy – like they was celebratin’. I thought…if they’re plannin’ on doing something...”

 

 

“Right. Thank you Geoff. I might have to call back.”

 

 

“I’ll be ‘ere,” the man answered.

 

 

Gene cut off the call, then immediately dialled downstairs.

 

 

“I want to know everyone Ray arrested who’s been let out in the last week – and then the last month and we keep goin’ back, right?” he demanded. “You need help, you get it. I don’t care who gets dragged out of bed.”

 

 

Chris appeared at the office door, catching the last part of the conversation.

 

 

“Ray?” he asked, leaving the rest of the question unspoken.

 

 

Gene nodded. “Possibly.”

 

 

“What? Where? Who is it?” Chris asked, forgetting his usual manners.

 

 

“Seems like it could be someone who Ray put away. Someone who got out recently.”

 

 

Chris nodded slowly, waiting for more.

 

 

“Come on, we’ll ‘ave to look in the files too.” He stepped out into the office and noticed a few other officers still milling around. “All of you – down to the files, we've got work to do."

 

 

Chris followed Gene down into the cavernous file room, where there were already uniformed officers looking through the brown paper folders.

 

 

“These are the ones we know Sergeant Carling was involved in,” one officer said. “We’re checking the rest as fast as we can.”

 

 

Gene nodded. “Chris, help ‘em.” He stood over the small stack and began looking through them, each file bringing back memories. He tried to think of each face, each person they’d put away, and what grudge they would hold against Ray in particular.

 

 

It was the third file in the next stack that made him stop though. He reached blindly for the telephone on the desk.

 

 

“Hello? I need an address. Gerry Blanchard. Where was he released to? Yes, the bloody address on his probation file.”

 

 

The barely suppressed anger in Gene’s tone made Chris look around.

 

 

Gene waved a hand at him and gestured for a pen. Chris fumbled in his pocket, producing a chewed biro and his notepad.

 

 

Gene grabbed them and scribbled down an address.

 

 

“Right…I want six of you, with me. The rest, stay here, keep looking. Move!”


	20. Chapter 20

Ray awoke with a blinding headache, a scratchy old carpet under his cheek, his hands bound tightly behind him. He opened his eyes and wished he hadn’t, even the dim light making him feel sick as pain sliced through his eyeballs into his brain.

 

 

He shifted slightly. The arm he was lying on was completely numb, but as he moved pain shot through him. He’d been on the receiving end of enough beatings in his life to guess he’d been given a good kicking on top of a knock on the head. He assumed whoever had him had taken advantage of him being out cold. He screwed up his face and felt dry blood cracking on his skin. He couldn’t breathe through his nose and his lips were caked with metallic tasting blood. He ran his tongue around his teeth and felt the swollen cuts on his lips. Breathing also hurt, but not enough to indicate any serious damage. He wondered how long he’d been out cold for – he guessed at least a few hours.

 

 

“Ah, sleepin’ beauty’s awake at last,” a voice drawled.

 

 

Ray rolled over, ignoring the pain and froze as he saw his captor, sprawled in the armchair, a bottle held loosely in one hand and a flick knife dug into the padded upholstery by his other.

 

 

“Wondered if you’d recognise me. Guess you do.” The man leant forward, smiling, looming over Ray. He plucked the knife from the cushioning and held it loosely, then gently but deliberately dragged the point down Ray’s cheek until it rested under his chin.

 

 

“Mmmm, I’ve been thinkin’ about this moment for a long time,” he said. “Wanted you to be awake, so’s you could enjoy it, just like you enjoyed me the first time.” He punctuated his speech by pushing the tip of the knife into the soft skin of Ray’s neck.

 

 

Ray stayed silent, every muscle in his body tense as the knife continued down his neck – he swallowed as the cold blade moved over his adam’s apple. Then the man slipped the point of the knife under Ray’s tie, which was still loose around his neck. He pulled up sharply and the blade sliced through the fabric, the point just catching him on the jaw. Ray flinched at the sudden sting and felt the slight tickle as a single rivulet of blood ran down his neck - adding a vivid splash of colour to his shirt collar. 

 

 

“What do you want, Blanchard?” Ray finally asked, hating that his voice sounded strained and odd even to his own ears.

 

 

Blanchard smiled again. “You.”

 

 

He slid the knife under the first button of Ray’s shirt and sliced through the threads, each movement slow and calculated.

 

 

Ray moved, rolling away, trying to push himself up to sitting, hoping he could get up somehow, or at least inflict some damage. But, before he could get far, Blanchard jumped out of the chair and grabbed him, then straddled Ray’s hips, his weight trapping Ray easily. He pushed the point of the blade against Ray’s chest just hard enough to pierce the skin. “Ah ah, you’re not going anywhere, not this time,” he smiled, pushing the blade harder and letting it slide up Ray’s breastbone by a few millimetres, another bright scarlet spot blossoming on the cheap fabric.

 

 

Ray grimaced in pain, and tried to move away from the knife.

 

 

“See, this time, copper, you’re mine, just like I was yours. I’ve spent five years planning just what I want to do to you.”

 

 

Ray stopped moving, disgusted by the feel of Blanchard pressed against him.

 

 

“Yeah, who’s in charge now? Who’s in charge now, pig?” Blanchard punctuated the last word by slicing off another button, taking less care now, allowing the cold metal to graze Ray’s skin.

 

 

Ray desperately wanted to move. His weight was on his hands and he was pretty sure some damage had been done to some of his fingers. Now some feeling was returning to them, pain was taking over. However, he knew that any movement would be punished, so he grimaced and remained still. It felt as if his mind was frozen; he had no idea how to escape or what to do, but doing nothing was unthinkable.

 

 

Blanchard cut off two more buttons, then pushed Ray’s shirt open with the tip of the knife, sliding it in circles around Ray’s nipples, laughing as Ray flinched.

 

 

“Not so fuckin’ brave now? Were you fucking that other copper? Hunt? Or were you lettin’ him fuck you? Bet he had you, didn’t he? Did you call him ‘Guv' when he was fucking you through the mattress? What did you do for ‘im not to tell anyone about you pickin’ up the likes of me? Suck him off under the desk?”

 

 

Ray glared at Blanchard, but he could feel his heart racing. He’d spent a lot of his life fighting - as soon as he was old enough and strong enough to stand and throw punches as well as take them - but now he was defenceless and it terrified him. He knew he had to be cleverer than Blanchard instead of stronger, and that wasn’t his forte. 

 

 

“Well they ain’t comin’ to get you now, are they? Given up on you, I s’pect, you dirty faggot.”

 

 

For the first time Ray noticed a window on the other side of the room, and realised that outside there was only darkness and the faint orange glow of a streetlamp. Blanchard had obviously held him prisoner all day. He wondered if anyone had noticed his disappearance.

 

 

“But I’ll give you a Valentine you won’t forget…not for as long as you live. Not that it’ll be very fuckin’ long…jus’ enough time for me to enjoy meself,” he ground his crotch against Ray, dragging the point of the knife down over Ray’s belly and stopping it just above his waistband.

 

 

 

There was a light knock on the door and Blanchard suddenly scrambled up, freeing Ray to move away. He shoved himself backwards with his feet, using his hands to make it up to a sitting position. He backed up against the wall, edging toward the corner, hoping to be able to defend himself better.

 

 

“What?” Blanchard called, clearly annoyed.

 

 

A man pushed the door open, looking first at Blanchard, then Ray. “We ‘eard a thump, ‘s all. Wanted t’check you was okay.”

 

 

“Course I fuckin’ am. What’s he going to do to me?” Blanchard answered, spit flying from his mouth as he shouted.

 

 

“Right, ‘kay,” the man ducked back out of the room, closing the door firmly behind him.

 

 

Ray stared malevolently up at Blanchard, who turned back to him, the smile back on his face. It was obvious that the man who now stood over him was very different from the one he’d picked up in a club all those years ago. Then he’d been submissive - almost shy, obviously unfamiliar with the gay scene. Ray had realized, after the letters, the shyness wasn’t his normal style. The man was clearly deranged, desperately possessive with an anger over his sexuality buried deep inside. It seemed prison had just brought that anger closer to the surface and mixed it up with a twisted need for violent revenge.

 

 

It sickened Ray to think they had actually had sex – even if it was a nameless shag in the back room of a club.

 

 

Blanchard ran a hand down over his denim-covered crotch, adjusting himself. He walked back toward Ray, a swagger in his step and his hand still cupping his genitals. Ray pushed himself further back into the corner. As Blanchard stood over him, Ray lashed out, catching the man with his heel, just below the knee. He grunted at the effort he put into the kick and was rewarded with a howl of pain from Blanchard who fell, his hands wrapped around his injured leg.

 

 

Ray awkwardly shoved himself up the wall, standing shakily, hissing as the pain in his hand increased and other injuries made themselves known. His head span and he was forced to close his eyes as he felt a wave of nausea hit him. He swallowed hard. His body couldn’t fail him now. He wouldn’t let it.

 

 

Blanchard opened his eyes and realised Ray had begun his escape, so he grabbed for the knife, which he’d dropped, trying to push himself to his feet too.

 

 

Ray threw himself at Blanchard, knocking him down again, but stumbled himself and crashed into the wardrobe. He turned as fast as he could, ready for a further attack, and moved towards the door, careful not to turn his back on Blanchard, but limping as his bruised and abused muscles protested. He fumbled with the door handle, his working hand still half-numb as he tried to escape. He hoped that Blanchard had scared off whoever was downstairs from making any more checks on them.

 

 

Blanchard staggered to his feet, limping heavily, and launched himself at Ray, knife first. Ray twisted away, forced, for the moment, to abandon his escape. He crouched, ready to move again, feeling utterly defenceless with his arms out of commission. He was panting for breath, and he knew his nose had started to bleed again as a result of the sudden efforts as he felt the warm blood trickle into his open mouth.

 

 

“Fuckin’ pig,” Blanchard grunted, hitting the door and using it to support himself. Ray noticed him turn the key in the lock. He knew he’d have to completely incapacitate Blanchard if he was to have time to get out now.

 

 

He leant forward, ready to move, eyes on the shining blade.

 

 

Blanchard jumped for him again, his movements uncoordinated. Ray thanked God that Blanchard had obviously been drinking for most of the night. Ray leapt sideways, but his own balance wasn’t good, and he fell onto the bed. He rolled over and off the other side, scrambling to his feet and panting, but Blanchard was already on him, and, as Ray straightened up, he was hit in the chest by Blanchard. He staggered backwards and hit the wardrobes, falling sideways, the other man still on top of him. He took his chance and drove his forehead into Blanchard’s face, then wrapped one leg around the other man’s, trying to heave himself over, so that he was on top. As Blanchard’s weight shifted off him, Ray gasped for breath. Only then did he feel the pain explode in his chest. 

 

 

It made him stop his movements, his body uncooperative as the pain gripped him. He couldn’t help but whimper, but, as Blanchard struggled again, he knew he had to move. He lifted his head and smashed down onto Blanchard’s face again, watching the blood flow from the other man’s nose as his head lolled uselessly. Ray saw stars himself - little flashes of light dancing all over his vision, darting out of the way as he tried to look at them, taunting him. He squeezed his eyes closed and tried to focus himself.

 

 

Finally, Ray allowed himself to look down at the damage. Blood was rapidly saturating his shirt, seemingly unstoppable. He kicked out, trying to free himself from the tangle of arms and legs, knowing that he couldn’t give in yet. He pushed himself upright, leaving a long red smear up the mirror on the wardrobe door, not knowing if the blood dripping from his face was his or Blanchard’s. He gave the man on the floor another kick, staggering as he almost lost his balance again. Then, he pushed the knife well clear of the man, and stumbled toward the door. His breathing shallow, he turned and leant back on the door, finding the small key with the few fingers that still seemed to be work.

 

 

He tried to twist the key, feeling it catch slightly, the mechanism stiff. Then, he heard the unmistakable sound of a door being slammed back and feet on the stairs. He supposed the fight had been too loud to go ignored, however harshly Blanchard had reprimanded his colleagues. He now hoped the door would hold and looked toward the small window. He wasn’t sure he’d be able to get out of it, let alone survive the fall.

 

 

The door handle rattled a few times, then there was a pause. Ray headed for the window, hitting it with his shoulder and bouncing off, gasping in pain. He wondered if he’d be able to smash the single pane with his head. Was it worth the risk or would it cause him too much damage? Maybe he should play dead, hope the men would be distracted by their fallen leader.

 

 

The wood splintered and the door slammed open, bouncing back off the chest of drawers, and a pistol barrel poked through. Ray knew it was too late to do anything but pray.

 

 

“Police!”

 

 

Ray stared, gasping for breath whilst at the same time trying to keep the pain from flaring in his chest. He let himself sag against the wall, head resting on the cool plaster as Gene Hunt edged around the door, gun raised, followed by Chris.


	21. Chapter 21

Chris wasn’t sure what it was that made him almost drop his gun and run toward Ray, all procedure forgotten. But, the next thing he knew, he had Ray’s lapel in his fist and was holding Ray up, trying to see if his friend was okay.

 

 

Gene glanced at the two of them, then turned his attention on to the man who was groaning on the floor, hands over his face. He gave the man an experimental kick. “Get up, you fuckin’ slag,” he said, his gun still loosely trained on the man.

 

 

Chris gently turned Ray around, letting Ray lean heavily on the wall, then began picking at the knots in the thin twine around Ray’s wrists. It was tight and bloodied, and his short fingernails couldn’t get purchase, then he saw the knife on the floor and picked it up, slicing through the bonds.

 

 

Ray grunted in pain as his arms were suddenly freed and brought his left hand up to his chest, pressing in hard.

 

 

Chris pulled his handkerchief from his pocket and wiped it over Ray’s bloodied face. “You okay, mate? Ray?” he asked, worry clear in his tone. Then he pulled back Ray’s jacket. He didn’t think he’d ever seen so much blood, and now he realised Ray’s black trousers were also slick with it. He couldn’t imagine how Ray was still standing. “Oh shit, oh Jesus – Guv! Guv, he needs ‘elp, quick!” For a moment Chris thought that Ray must have been knifed in the heart or lung for there to possibly be this much blood, but then he tried to control himself, taking in exactly where Ray’s hand was, with the blood flowing sluggishly out between his fingers. It was clear that nothing major had been hit, the blood was just from a flesh-wound on his side.

 

 

Gene glanced over and took in Ray’s blood-slicked hand clamped over the side of his chest under his arm. He headed for the door and shouted downstairs, where the plod were still sorting out the other three men who had been in the house.

 

 

“Get on the bloody radio and get an ambulance – now! Tell ‘em it’s for one of ours, right?”

 

 

An officer ran for the squad car to call in the message, so Gene turned to the bed and pulled the cover off.

 

 

“Chris, get ‘im on here, c’mon!”

 

 

Chris wrapped his arm around Ray, trying to hold him gently. “C’mon, Ray,” he said softly. “Jus’ sit on the bed, we’ll ‘ave you sorted, ambulance is on the way, jus’…it’ll be okay, right?” Chris could feel his bottom lip wobbling so he bit down on it. Ray needed him to be strong, not some blubbering kid.

 

 

He gently lowered Ray onto the mattress, then grabbed for the blanket that Gene was offering, wrapping it most of the way around Ray’s shoulders, but using the end to move Ray’s hand aside and push hard against the bleeding wound. He felt Ray try to flinch away, so he sat on the other side of Ray’s body, holding him close, hugging him tightly, so he couldn’t move. “’M sorry, I got to…” he kept the pressure on, trying to remember everything he’d learned on his first aid course, which now seemed decades ago.

 

 

Gene could see Ray’s eyes were sliding shut, so he reached out and gripped his shoulder. “Come on, Ray, stay ‘ere,” he said loudly. “Don’t let that bastard do this t’you, c’mon!”

 

 

Ray nodded once, making the effort and forcing his eyes to open. Gene looked worried, but more importantly Chris was there, arms around him. He lifted his own arm and hung on to Chris, trying to focus on the warmth and comfort of his body and not on the gnawing pain that flashed through him each time he breathed in.

 

 

Gene stood, watching his two officers, feeling useless. He turned and found the small bathroom, wetting the hand towel under the tap and returning to the bedroom. He wiped it over Ray’s face gently, hoping to wake the man up a little. He could see that under the fresh bright blood there were also darkening bruises – probably from when Ray had been taken that morning. He felt anger burning deep inside him and glanced at the man on the floor, moving over to him and rolling him over, putting the handcuffs on him too tightly.

 

 

“Someone come an’ take this scrote out of my sight!” he shouted down the stairs.

 

 

Two of the squad ran up the stairs, both casting worried glances at Ray.

 

 

Chris was murmuring anything that came into his head – soothing noises, reassurances – praying that Ray would be okay. Ray’s blood-matted hair was millimetres from his lips, his head now almost entirely resting on Chris’s shoulder as sitting up became too much effort.

 

 

Chris thought the bleeding from Ray’s chest might be slowing, but he didn’t move the blanket to check for fear of disturbing the wound.

 

 

Gene paced, casting worried looks at Ray and peering out of the window, waiting for the wail of the siren and the tell-tale blue light.

 

 

 

Finally, after what seemed like hours, the ambulance did arrive, and, with both Gene and Chris’s help, Ray made it down onto the stretcher they had laid on the pavement. His grip on Chris’s shirt never loosened.

 

 

Gene didn’t say a word as Chris climbed into the ambulance after the stretcher, and he stayed, staring down the road, long after the vehicle had gone. It was only when someone exited the house, a struggling prisoner held tightly, that he finally snapped out of his thoughts and moved, shouting orders once again.

 

 

 

Chris felt useless in the ambulance – one of the drivers had pushed a few large cotton pads over the worst wounds, and Ray’s eyes had slid closed. He glanced at the man sitting next to him, then decided he didn’t care what anyone else thought – Ray was his best friend, and he was hurt. He took Ray’s hand and gripped it.

 

 

“Ray? Ray? You’ll be all right, mate, honest. Won’t be long ‘til we’re at the hospital now.”

 

 

Ray made a Herculean effort and managed to open his eyes for a brief second, just so Chris would know that he understood. He twitched his fingers in Chris’s grip too, wanting to hold onto the warm hand because he felt so cold.

 

 

Chris smiled, knowing that Ray wasn’t going to give up.

 

 

 

As soon as they reached the hospital Chris had to let Ray go as he was wheeled away down the corridor on a trolley. He watched until the small group of nurses and porters disappeared, then trudged to the reception desk to give them Ray’s details. One of the nurses took down his name and address, then looked up at Chris. “Is there anyone you need to call? His wife or anything?”

 

 

Chris stilled, then shook his head. He couldn’t remember Ray ever mentioning anyone, but the Guv would know if there was anyone.

 

 

“D’you think I’ll be able to see him soon?” he asked.

 

 

“I’ll go and find out for you, sir, okay?” the nurse smiled.

 

 

Chris nodded.

 

 

Ten minutes later she was back, still smiling. “Your friend will be okay, I’m sure, but he’s had to go up to have surgery – there’s muscle damage, where he was cut, and he’s broken some fingers, so the doctors will set them too. It’ll probably be a few hours before he’s back down and waking up.”

 

 

Chris nodded again, silent, his mind consumed with worry.

 

 

The nurse reached out and took his hand. “He’ll be okay – don’t worry.”

 

 

Chris nodded, but the words didn’t really help. He’d only believe them when Ray was back with him, living, breathing.

 

 

It was only after the nurse had gone again and he was on his own, staring at the wall, that he realised just how attractive she’d been, and how once upon a time he would have tried to talk to her. Now all he cared about was Ray.

 

 

A few moments later she returned, holding a cup of tea out to him. “Here, you look like you need it.”

 

 

He smiled and nodded, taking the cup and saucer, not meeting her gaze. “Thanks, Miss.”

 

 

 

Gene burst through the door and immediately focussed on Chris, who was sitting on one of the chairs, looking about as miserable as anyone could. Gene felt worry creeping up on him.

 

 

“Chris?” he finally managed, his voice sounding oddly strained.

 

 

Chris’s head snapped up. “Guv. He’s…they got him in surgery. Said his…where he was cut, it hit the muscle or summat. And he’s got broken fingers ‘n all.”

 

 

Gene nodded, relieved. “But he’ll be okay?”

 

 

Chris shrugged. “They said he would, Guv.”

 

 

Gene picked up the cup and saucer from the seat next to Chris’s and realised the contents were untouched and stone cold. He sat down carefully and looked across to his DC. “How about you?”

 

 

Chris turned and looked at him questioningly.

 

 

Gene didn’t know how to phrase his question exactly, and he felt awkward. “I mean, you okay? I know you an’ Ray’s…mates,” he finished lamely. And he suddenly wished he’d made more of an effort to get to know the young man whom his sergeant held in such high esteem. He and Ray were mates too – and closer in age than Ray and Chris were – but somehow, Gene always had better things to do than talk to Chris.

 

 

Chris turned away again, fixing his gaze back on the skirting board on the other side of the corridor. “M’okay,” he mumbled. Then he thought he should probably make more of an effort for his Guv. “They asked if there was anyone who should know, ‘bout Ray. I…didn’t know. You know where his parents are or owt, Guv?” he asked.

 

 

Gene shook his head. “There ain’t anyone. Just me an’ you.” He looked down at his right hand, where his knuckle still throbbed from punching Blanchard hard in the face. He wondered if Ray would ever trust anyone again.

 

 

Chris looked surprised, but nodded slowly. He wondered if he shouldn’t have made more of an effort, when Ray had invited him to go to his flat. Maybe Ray wanted the company. In truth, he’d always felt too nervous to go there. He didn’t know what they’d talk about, and was afraid he might find Ray with a girlfriend or something. So although he often thought about it, he had never taken up Ray’s invitation.

 

 

They sat in silence for a long time, Chris not knowing what to say, Gene lost in memories of all the other times he had sat in hospitals, waiting for Ray to be patched up. He’d felt somehow responsible for all of those times too, not that he’d ever let on.

 

 

“Ray said…said that ‘e knew you from when you were a PC,” Chris finally said. “He said you arrested ‘im…that ain’t true, is it?” He had often wondered if Ray was just telling him tales, or trying to set him up for some sort of joke.

 

 

Gene snorted at the memory. “Yeah, s’pose it’s true. Di’n’t exactly arrest ‘im, but I would’ve done. I tried to help him out an’ he robbed me mum of the housekeeping money. If I’d’ve found him again I’d’ve tanned his hide an’ thrown the book at him.”

 

 

Chris stared, wide-eyed. “But…he’s a police officer…he…how could he have stolen from you?”

 

 

Gene glanced across and saw the fascination and shock on Chris’s face. He decided that anything that took the younger man’s mind off Ray’s current condition was probably worth doing, so he began to recount the story.

 

 

By the end of it Chris was shaking his head. “I can’t believe…an’ you forgave him? I mean…after you punched ‘im?”

 

 

Gene nodded. “Yeah, cheeky bastard.”

 

 

“Can’t believe he asked to work with you, Guv. Not after what he did.”

 

 

Gene frowned. “Neither can I.” Then he shrugged. “But I s’pose I’m glad ‘e did. He’s a good man, a good copper. You could do worse than follow in Ray’s footsteps. He’s the sort of copper you want on your team.”

 

 

Chris nodded, and vowed to try to be more like Ray if he could. And then he thought about finding Ray in the house earlier. It made him so angry that someone would want to hurt Ray.

 

 

“Why did Blanchard do it, Guv?” he asked suddenly. “I mean, you an’ Ray must’ve put away hundreds and hundreds of people…why did he hate Ray so much?”

 

 

Gene pulled a face, knowing he couldn’t tell Chris the whole story. “Some people just…ain’t right in the head,” he finally said. “He took it bad when Ray caught him. I s’pose prison just…gave ‘im time to stew on it all. But he’ll be going back there now, don’t worry.”

 

 

Chris looked up at Gene. “And the next time he comes out?”

 

 

Gene didn’t answer.


	22. Chapter 22

The silence stretched until a doctor appeared through the double doors.

 

 

Gene stood and Chris nervously followed.

 

 

“You’re with the officer who was brought in?” the doctor asked.

 

 

Gene nodded. “Aye. DCI Hunt, DC Skelton. How is ‘e?”

 

 

“Fine, yes. We’ve had to put extensive stitching in – both the serratus anterior muscles and the latissimus dorsi were damaged by the knife wound, but I think we’ve dealt with that.” The doctor paused as Gene’s eyes narrowed, then decided to try simpler terms of explanation. “Um, yes, as I say, we’ve had to put in many stitches, some deeper in the muscle, others to hold the skin together on the surface. As long as he rests, then we can begin physiotherapy and exercise within two to three weeks, just as soon as we’re sure we won’t cause further damage. As for his other injuries – mostly superficial. Bruises, cuts, they will all heal perfectly, given time. His hands, well, on the right hand there are extensive breaks - two of the phalanges – fingers - and also three metacarpals, the bones in the palm. We’ve managed to set them all, and healing shouldn’t pose any further complications, although there is evidence of extensive trauma to the MCP joints. Old wounds, I believe?”

 

 

Gene looked at the doctor blankly. “In English?” he said, through clenched teeth, trying his best not to lose his temper with the man in front of him.

 

 

“He seems to have thrown a lot of punches in his life, Chief Inspector,” the doctor answered, sounding weary. “His knuckles show the signs of plenty of trauma over the years.”

 

 

“Oh,” Gene glanced away, remembering all the times those punches had been his bidding. “Yeah, yeah, I s’pose.”

 

 

“Indeed.” The doctor said, shifting slightly and sniffing disdainfully. “One of the nurses will fetch you when you can see him. Good day, gentlemen.” The doctor departed again.

 

 

Gene turned just in time to see his DC wiping his sleeve across his eyes and sniffing quietly. He stopped, not knowing exactly what to say. Eventually he hesitantly reached out and patted Chris on the shoulder. “There y’are, Ray’s made of tough stuff, eh? Takes more ‘an a scrote with a grudge to take out Manchester’s finest.”

 

 

Chris nodded, trying desperately not to let any more tears escape.

 

 

 

By the time they were finally led into the dim ward, surrounded by patients hooked up to wheezing, beeping, machinery, Chris wasn’t sure he wanted to see Ray. He was terrified that Ray would look really ill, and he wasn’t sure he could hold himself together in front of Gene.

 

 

He slowed as they approached the bed, hanging back. Then Gene turned to him. “C’mon, it’s you he’ll want to see – his mates, not his DCI,” he said, conveniently forgetting, for the moment, that he knew Ray far better than Chris did.

 

 

Chris hesitantly nodded, then moved up next to the bed. The head end was raised slightly and Ray looked as if he were asleep, except with a mask over his face. But, Chris could see through the plastic to the split lips, cuts and bruises. He let his gaze track down Ray’s body, to the huge swathe of bandages that wrapped around his chest, a misshapen wad of padding on the side of his rib cage, to his hands which lay on top of the blankets, one completely encased in a splint and yet more white bandages and rested on a pillow.

 

 

“He’ll be waking up soon,” the nurse said. “Just let him know you’re here. He’d rather wake up to his friends than one of us, I’m sure.”

 

 

Gene nodded and pushed Chris towards the chair closest to Ray. He sat in the other himself, reaching into his pocket and taking a long swig from one of his hip flasks.

 

 

 

Chris sat in silence, glancing up at Ray’s face occasionally, and picking at a loose thread in his jacket for the rest of the time.

 

 

He’d succeeded in unraveling almost an inch of stitching from his sleeve when a slight movement made him look up. Ray’s arm moved, as if he was trying to lift it. Chris moved to the edge of his chair. “Ray? You awake?”

 

 

It took Ray a minute to work out where he was, why everything hurt and that it was Chris staring at him, worry clear on his face. He looked into Chris’s eyes and couldn’t think of anything to say, even if he had had the power of speech. Instead he lifted the arm that still felt as if it belonged to him – the one nearest to Chris – and managed to rest his hand against Chris’s shoulder, fingers gripping weakly.

 

 

Chris moved slightly, lifting his own arm from where it was resting on the bed, and took Ray’s hand, gripping it.

 

 

“You’re in ‘ospital,” he said softly. “They said you’re gonna be okay. You got stitches in, an’ your other hand’s bandaged up, like, but that’s all.”

 

 

Ray nodded. He could vaguely remember Gene and Chris arriving into the small bedroom, but the rest was a blur. What was much more vivid was the fear that had run through him when it seemed as if there was no way he could stop whatever Blanchard had planned for him.

 

 

He disentangled his free hand from Chris’s and reached for the mask on his face. He succeeded in dragging it down and resting it under his chin. “Did…you get…Blanchard?” he managed breathlessly, the fire in his chest increasing with each effort.

 

 

Chris nodded. “Yeah, yeah, he’s in the nick.”

 

 

Gene heaved himself up, looking down at Ray, his worry receding as he saw his sergeant really was going to be okay. “Gonna get a doc,” he said and walked away, digging in his pocket for a cigarette.

 

 

Chris finally allowed himself to smile. “Is there anythin’…d’you want a drink or owt?” he gestured to the small bedside unit, upon which a jug and glass sat.

 

 

Ray nodded and closed his eyes for a second as Chris carefully poured out a glass of water and dropped a straw into the tumbler.

 

 

“Ray?” Chris said softly, wondering if he had fallen asleep.

 

 

He opened his eyes and tried to smile. Chris held out the glass awkwardly, guiding the straw, his fingers accidentally brushing over Ray’s bottom lip. He wanted to let his hand linger – to touch Ray, to prove that he was still real and feel the same solid warmth he had back in the dingy bedroom, when he had held Ray against himself.

 

 

Ray drank slowly. His head ached and his mouth felt totally dry. He’d always hated waking up from anaesthetic and this time was no different, except that Chris was there. He finished drinking and Chris put the glass back, sitting down again, his arms resting on the bed.

 

 

Ray reached over and touched his other hand, but the thick bandages prevented him from exploring much.

 

 

“They said you broke some fingers,” Chris explained.

 

 

He nodded. Somewhere in the back of his mind he could remember, or perhaps he was imagining it. He didn’t want to know. He knew he’d left his flat, but when exactly they’d jumped him was a blur. He thought there were a brief few moments when the pain of the beating had woken him up then sent him back into blessed unconsciousness. But he didn’t try to remember. He didn’t want to.

 

 

“D’you want t’sleep? I can go, y’know, if…they jus’ said it’d be better if we were here when you woke up, like…”

 

 

Ray shook his head. “Stay?” he asked softly, the fear of somehow seeming less of a ‘real man’ easily overshadowed by not wanting to be left alone, helpless on the bed.

 

 

Chris smiled widely and nodded. “Course.”

 

 

Gene returned, with a harassed-looking doctor trailing after him.

 

 

“See, he’s awake,” Gene gestured at Ray.

 

 

“Yes, sir. As I said, there should be no complications. You’re feeling okay, Mr Carling?” the doctor asked, clearly just to appease Gene.

 

 

Ray nodded.

 

 

The doctor reached over him and put the mask back on his face. “Just for now, it would be better if you kept the oxygen mask on. And you really must try to stay still.”

 

 

Chris looked guilty, moving back from the bed, trying to fade into the background.

 

 

“I ‘aven’t moved,” Ray argued, his voice muffled by the mask.

 

 

The doctor gave a curt nod. “Then I’ll leave you to rest. Any problems, call one of the nurses.”

 

 

Ray nodded and watched the doctor leaving, then rolled his eyes at Chris, making the younger man smile.

 

 

Gene nodded to the doctor in thanks, then turned back to Ray. “And don’t go gettin’ sick again this time – right? I ain’t sitting through that again.”

 

 

Ray nodded once, realising that even small movement did somehow make his chest hurt more, not that he’d ever let it show.

 

 

“Right, I’m going back to the station. Chris, stay ‘ere with him. Ray, I’ll be back tomorrow, you take it easy, right?”

 

 

“Yes, Guv,” Ray answered from behind the mask.

 

 

 

Once Gene had gone, Chris sat in silence, watching Ray’s chest rise and fall.

 

 

“Can go, ‘f you want,” Ray said, his words muffled by the mask.

 

 

Chris jumped slightly, then shook his head. “No, no. I just…thought you should get some rest, or summat.”

 

 

Ray gave a small grin. “Don’t ‘ave to rest in silence.”

 

 

Chris gave a small smile back, not wanting to mention that it sounded as if Ray was struggling with each breath.

 

 

“The Guv, he said you’d nicked Blanchard an’ he’d took it bad. I didn’t…I thought you always said to ignore people makin’ threats an’ that.”

 

 

“Most of ‘em,” Ray took a slow breath. “Are talkin’ bullshit.”

 

 

“But not all?” Chris said, almost to himself.

 

 

“Aye,” Ray agreed.

 

 

Chris felt bad about mentioning Blanchard, so thought he’d better change the subject.

 

 

“Is…is there anyone you want me to tell? I mean, that you’re in ‘ere? The Guv said…he said there weren’t, but I just wondered.”

 

 

Ray shook his head. “No,” he breathed, looking at the ceiling. He wished Chris would take his hand again, but he knew he could never ask.

 

 

It hurt Chris, to see Ray so damaged, so fragile. He found it hard to reconcile this Ray with the one he knew.

 

 

He hesitated, then slid his hand back over Ray’s. It wasn’t very manly, he knew that, but he didn’t have the words to comfort his friend, and it was obvious Ray was finding talking difficult.

 

 

He knew he’d done the right thing when Ray’s fingers tightened around his. He gave a small smile, and enjoyed the feel of the warm dry skin against his own.

 

 

“You should sleep,” he said softly. “I ain’t goin’ anywhere ‘til the Guv gets back, at least.”

 

 

Ray gave the smallest of nods. He didn’t want to fall asleep, he wanted to stay awake and enjoy every moment of being alone with Chris, but his eyelids were slowly closing and he gave up the fight.

 

 

Chris was almost pleased when Ray fell asleep. His face relaxed a little, and he no longer looked as if he were in as much pain. Chris sat forward, leaning his elbows on the bed, his hand still holding Ray’s. He reached out and gently moved the blanket a little further up Ray’s chest, allowing his fingers to rest against Ray’s skin for a moment, to check he was warm enough, he told himself.

 

 

***

 

 

Gene screeched the Cortina to a stop and climbed out. He’d had a sleepless night, but he knew he needed to have his wits about him today in order to get Blanchard charged and put away – for the rest of his life, if Gene could manage it. But first he had to check on Ray. He strode through the hospital corridors until he reached the nurse near Ray’s room.

 

 

“Any news, sister? On Ray Carling?” he asked.

 

 

“No sir, he’s doing fine, as we’d expect. But there is someone in with him at the moment – the officer you left here last night, I understand? Well, they both looked so peaceful we didn’t have the heart to ask the young man to leave. Besides, I understand your officer had been attacked? Well, sometimes it’s better for people to wake up with someone they know nearby, if they’ve had a bad experience. But, it’s not our usual practice, you understand. If it hadn’t been that you were police officers, we would have made him go,” she finished sternly.

 

 

Gene nodded. “Thanks love, ‘s good of you,” Gene moved past her and headed for Ray’s bed. He pulled open the curtains quietly, worried he might wake Ray, but was greeted by the sight of Ray propped up in bed, looking a far better colour than he had the night before and wide awake, as well.

 

 

Chris was still asleep, his head resting on his arms, sitting awkwardly on the chair beside the bed. During the night someone had draped a spare blanket over his shoulders, and Gene knew it must have been one of the nurses. It seemed to Gene that they always made a little extra effort when it was coppers they were caring for.

 

 

Ray looked up at Gene and raised his uninjured hand to his lips, signaling Gene to be quiet.

 

 

Gene moved silently across the room and sat carefully on the chair at the other side of the bed.

 

 

“How’re you doing?” he asked softly.

 

 

Ray nodded. “Feelin’ a bit better today, thanks Guv. Not as…think them puttin’ me under jus’ knocked me for six yesterday.”

 

 

Gene nodded, glancing up at the tubes and wires that were still attached to Ray.

 

 

“They said anything else to you?”

 

 

Ray gave a half shrug. “That I gotta eat, I can’t go and ‘ave a smoke and I got to drink lots of water,” he pulled a face.

 

 

“What about all this,” Gene gestured to the swathes of bandages.

 

 

“Can’t use me ‘and for weeks, an’ gotta take it easy. An’ if anything hurts I’m to stop,” Ray replied wearily.

 

 

“And when are they letting you out?”

 

 

Ray shrugged. “Doc said he’ll be back an’ see me today. S’pose it’s up to him.”

 

 

“I’m sure you’ll be outta here in no time.” Gene reached out and patted Ray on the shoulder. “And back where you belong. You need anything – any help or whatever - you know me an’ Tess don’t mind if you need to stay a while, ‘til you can look after yourself well enough.”

 

 

Ray smiled. “Cheers Guv, ‘preciate it.”

 

 

“Here’s your keys back – we found ‘em near your flat, when we looked for you. Get Chris to go an’ find you some clean clothes when he wakes up, and whatever else you need. Tell him he don’t have to come in ‘til late, or if you need ‘im, keep ‘im, all right?”

 

 

Ray nodded, so Gene turned and left the room, pulling the curtains closed behind him quietly.

 

 

Ray fidgeted, pulling at the strands of bandage on his hand. He really wanted a cigarette, but he knew the sister would be down on him like a tonne of bricks if she caught him trying to light up again.

 

 

He nudged Chris slightly by shifting his leg. Chris stirred, but didn’t wake. The only part of Chris Ray could reach was his head, so he gently pushed his fingers into Chris’s hair and gave him a shake.

 

 

“Huh…wha’?” Chris moved, rubbing his face on his arms. He lifted his head and blinked a few times before remembering where he was. “Oh, um, wha’?” He looked up and saw Ray, then smiled. “Sorry, I…is it morning?” he asked, seeing the light coming through from behind the blinds.

 

 

Ray nodded. “Aye.”

 

 

“I didn’t…I was gonna go ‘ome.” Chris said, rubbing his hands over his face and pushing his hair up.

 

 

“I don’t mind,” Ray answered, a little too quickly.

 

 

He was rewarded with a shy smile from Chris.

 

 

“Why don’t’ you go home an’ have a wash. When the doc’s been round I might be able to go ‘ome. The Guv says you can go t’my place an’ fetch me stuff an’ all. Just clothes an’ whatever. Toothbrush, in case they keep me in.”

 

 

Chris nodded and stretched, his joints stiff from his awkward position. 

 

 

“Get yerself a coffee too,” Ray said. “An’ some food.” He nodded to the small bunch of keys Gene had left. “You can get me car an’ all. You may as well use it while I can’t.”

 

 

Chris’s eyes went wide. “I can drive the Capri?”

 

 

Ray nodded. “’Course.”

 

 

Chris couldn’t help but smile as he made his way out of the ward, grinning to the nurse who was helping another patient.

 

 

***

 

 

He used the lift to get up to Ray’s floor, free of the fear that had accompanied his last trip to the flat. He slid the key into the lock and stepped inside, pushing the door closed behind him. He walked through into the bedroom, opening various cupboards and drawers, trying to think of everything Ray could need. He tried to pick out clothes which would be comfy. He’d only ever really seen Ray in a shirt and tie, but he found a tracksuit, which he thought might be more comfortable. He also spotted a sports bag at the bottom of the wardrobe and picked it up, surprised to find it was quite heavy. He put it in the bed, reaching in to empty it. He found two boxing gloves inside, worn and taped up, the cuffs stained from sweat. He sat on the bed, holding the gloves and slipped his hands inside them, feeling the weight. They were loose on him, but he experimentally knocked them together. He could imagine Ray boxing, imagine the power in his arms, so different to how he had left Ray that morning. He put the gloves aside, then pulled out a towel and the long wraps which were dumped in a tangle in the bottom.

 

 

He sank onto the bed himself, feeling suddenly tired. Everything was so unfair. Why would anyone want to hurt Ray? He looked at the modest surroundings. Ray had worked for this. He’d never done anything wrong. He was a policeman. He was there to help people. Chris let his hand slide over the pillow and remembered how Ray had taken care of him, made sure he’d been safe the night he’d got so drunk he couldn’t get home. He picked up the soft sweater he’d found and held it to his face. It smelled of the flat, and of Ray. He knew it was up to him to repay Ray’s kindness now, to look after Ray and make sure he was going to be okay. And he wanted to do that, wanted it more than anything.

 

 

 

He walked back down the stairs, swinging the bag. When he arrived in the car park the Capri still had frost on it. He opened it and threw the bag in, finding the scraper Ray kept in the rear footwell and very carefully removing every bit of ice. Then he settled behind the wheel, starting the engine and listening appreciatively to the note. He had always been jealous of Ray’s car. It was such a cool car, but he’d never dreamt of being allowed to drive it, especially without Ray being there.

 

 

He drove very carefully back to the hospital, not throwing it around corners like Ray did.

 

 

***

 

 

When he got back, Ray had breakfast sitting on the small tray in front of him. He was poking it about with the spoon, pointedly not eating anything.

 

 

Chris’s stomach rumbled, and he looked longingly at the porridge.

 

 

Ray immediately noticed where Chris’s gaze was resting.

 

 

“Here,” he said, pushing the bowl towards Chris. “Do us both a favour an’ ‘ave it.”

 

 

“You don’t want it?” Chris asked, surprised.

 

 

Ray poked the spoon into the slightly gelatinous greyish substance and pulled a face. “No. An’ God knows what that nurse’ll try an’ do to me if she thinks I ‘aven’t eaten it.”

 

 

Chris grinned, grabbing the bowl, and started spooning the food into his mouth.

 

 

Ray watched for a moment, then shook his head. He couldn’t imagine eating, he felt queasy, although the doctor had explained that was a side effect of the anaesthetic and nothing to be worried about.

 

 

“When d’they say y’could go?” Chris asked, through a mouthful of porridge.

 

 

Ray shrugged. “Not yet. Dunno, I don’t feel like I need to stay ‘ere.”

 

 

Chris didn’t envy any doctor who had to do battle with Ray over his care. But, he did want to be sure Ray would really be okay. “They’re the docs, though, they know what they’re doin’,” he said.

 

 

Ray just grunted slightly.

 

 

“You wanna…do somethin’? Pass the time, like?” Chris asked. “There was a pack of cards in the ward I saw.”

 

 

“What’d we play?” Ray asked, sounding grumpy.

 

 

“Snap?” Chris ventured, hoping to cheer his friend up.

 

 

Ray silently held up his bandaged hand, not looking amused.

 

 

“Oh,” Chris looked down at the floor. “Um…poker?”

 

 

Ray gave a smirk. “Well I’ve only got a bloody nighty on…so if it’s strip poker, you’ll win.”

 

 

Chris blushed. “I was thinking, like, what we do down the pub, I mean…”

 

 

Ray rolled his eyes. “I know. Go an’ get them cards then, div.”

 

 

A few minutes later Chris had returned. “Nurse said I weren’t to wear you out. Says if you’re tired I’m to go.”

 

 

“Whatever,” Ray replied, pushing his tray to one side, making room for the cards. He knew he’d be bored senseless on his own, and he welcomed Chris’s company.

 

 

It was actually more fun than Ray had imagined – although a lot of the time was spent with him attempting to get Chris to learn how to shuffle the pack properly, whilst being unable to show him how to do it himself. His initial frustration quickly gave way to hilarity at Chris’s fumbling attempts, although he couldn’t laugh without pain biting into his chest.

 

 

“Mr. Carling?” a voice at the door said.

 

 

Ray looked up, then back at Chris as once again the pack of cards seemed to explode into the air instead of neatly drop from a riffle into a stack. He just bit back a snort of laughter as he remembered how much it had hurt last time.

 

 

“Yeah,” he answered, turning his attention back to the doctor.

 

 

“Let’s see here then,” the man picked up the clipboard with Ray’s notes on it and looked through it.

 

 

Chris quickly gathered up the cards from where they had fallen and stood up, looking nervous. “I’ll…wait outside, or summat,” he said.

 

 

Ray gave him a smile and nodded, then looked back up to the doctor.

 

 

“So, we’ll just have a look at your hand first, Mr. Carling,” the doctor finally announced. “I’ll just fetch a nurse so we’re all ready.”

 

 

Ray looked down at the massive white bandage on the end of his arm. Truth be told, he was a little nervous to see what it contained. He’d broken plenty of fingers before and it had never resulted in anything like this.

 

 

Once the nurse had arrived with a small wheeled trolley containing bandages and dressings the doctor began carefully slicing through the fabric.

 

 

Eventually, as the last dressings were peeled back, Ray got his first look at his hand. It looked horrific – covered in lines of stitches and various scabs, the skin still puffy and red. To Ray, it didn’t look as if it belonged to him at all, and it definitely didn’t look as if it was getting better.

 

 

“Lovely, yes,” the doctor said thoughtfully, carefully moved Ray’s fingers and examining the incisions. “Of course, it still looks a little angry from the operations. We not only had to work on the bones, but also fix the damage to the sheaths on two tendons. It will mean that any movement will be painful for at least a week. But, after that time, we really must get you moving, to prevent further damage from inaction. The swelling should go down soon, but we’ll keep an eye on that.”

 

 

Ray nodded. “But I can go ‘ome, right? You don’t need me to stay for that, do you?”

 

 

The doctor smiled. “No, quite, of course that won’t require you to stay in. However, if we take a look at your chest now…”

 

 

Ray watched as the nurse efficiently re-bandaged his hand, wincing slightly as she tightened the bandages around the splints she had laid in the bindings.

 

 

Then the doctor cut through the bandages around his chest and nodded again. “Yes, yes, that’s fine. Doing very well.”

 

 

Ray glanced down to see the wound and realised by its shape that, when he had twisted away from Blanchard during the fight, he had obviously ripped the knife out of his side, causing an ugly rip through the skin of his chest. It was surrounded by deep bruising and the stitches were much larger than those in his hand.

 

 

“That really is looking fine. Again, we’ll have to keep an eye on it, and as soon as we’re able, we’ll start physiotherapy to ensure the damaged muscles heal. But no, I see no reason why you should be made to stay here if you feel you are ready to go home?”

 

 

Ray nodded. “Don’t see any point stayin’ here.”

 

 

“Right, well what we’ll do is organise appointments to out-patients, so we can keep an eye on your injuries. At first we will need you to come in regularly. Maybe not tomorrow, but probably every other day, so we can check there’s no infections and that everything is happening as we expect. We’ll also change the dressings then.”

 

 

Ray nodded, willing to agree to anything that ensured his freedom.

 

 

“Now, you mustn’t get the stitches wet, so you will need some help. Is there someone…?”

 

 

Ray nodded. “Aye, yeah.”

 

 

“Excellent. Well, you must take it easy, nothing strenuous. Listen to your body – if something hurts then stop. We’ll give you pain relief, but remember, just because the pain is masked it doesn’t mean you won’t damage yourself, yes?”

 

 

Ray just nodded, agreeing to everything the doctor said.

 

 

Eventually the doctor left and the nurse stayed behind, assisting him as he dressed in the fresh clothes Chris had brought. The movements hurt, but he didn’t let it show, fearing they could decide to keep him in if they did.

 

 

Finally he was ready and he stood, feeling weak and shaky as he slowly made it to the door. The nurse followed him, carrying his things and ready to assist him if need be.

 

 

Chris looked up as the door opened, expecting to be allowed back in. When he saw Ray, he smiled. “Ray! You’re okay then?” he asked, reaching out and gripping Ray’s forearm without thinking about it.

 

 

Ray gave a small smile, already wondering if he could really make it all the way to the car park. For some reason his muscles were aching already, and not being able to breathe properly wasn’t helping.

 

 

“Yeah, c’mon,” he said.

 

 

The nurse handed Chris the bag and smiled. “Goodbye, Ray.”

 

 

“Bye love – an’ thanks,” Ray smiled.

 

 

Chris frowned a little, feeling a tiny hint of jealousy. But he quickly swept his feelings aside, holding onto Ray’s arm and walking slowly, leading the way to the car park.

 

 

“We’ll ‘ave you home in no time,” Chris said, trying to be cheerful. “Get you settled in an’ resting.”

 

 

Ray bit back a sharp retort about Chris treating him like a girl.


	23. Chapter 23

They eventually made it to Ray’s flat and Ray headed for the sofa, sinking down onto it carefully, eyes closed.

 

 

Chris sat by him, desperate to reach out and touch him.

 

 

“Can I do anything?” Chris asked.

 

 

Ray smiled to himself, thinking about all the things Chris could do for him. “Nah,” he finally answered.

 

 

“What’re you smilin’ at, then?” Chris said, smiling himself.

 

 

Ray opened his eyes and looked across at Chris.

 

 

“Nowt, honest.”

 

 

Chris frowned a little, feeling like he was missing something. “You laughin’ at me? I’m just tryin’ to help…”

 

 

He stood up abruptly and walked into the kitchen, looking around for a glass but settling for a mug, and filling it from the tap.

 

 

Ray stood up, following Chris. “I ain’t laughing at you,” he reached out and turned Chris around, seeing the real hurt in Chris’s eyes.

 

 

He hesitated, reached up and touched Chris’s jaw, then leant forward and pressed a gentle kiss on Chris’s lips.

 

 

Chris stared. His face was inches from Ray’s, he could feel the warmth of Ray’s breath on his skin. A million thoughts ran through his head, from utter shock to elation to the certainty that whatever he did next would probably be the wrong thing.

 

 

The seconds stretched, then Ray lowered his hand. He had been so certain that this was what Chris had wanted, but now, suddenly, he was unsure.

 

 

He broke eye contact, starting to move away, to leave Chris to make a choice, entirely expecting him to walk out of his flat and out of his life.

 

 

Chris realised he needed to do something, and quickly. He reached out and grabbed Ray’s uninjured hand. “No, Ray – I…” he waited until Ray was looking at him again. “I didn’t…don’t go.”

 

 

The silence stretched again, and Chris knew he had to do something more convincing. He laid his hand on Ray’s chest and stepped closer again, planting a kiss on Ray’s lips, just as Ray had done to him. He felt Ray’s hand slide up his back and he melted into the hold, allowing Ray to kiss him again, Ray’s warm tongue finally sliding into his mouth.

 

 

Chris’s fingers gripped into the soft fabric of Ray’s sweatshirt, not wanting to let go. He slid his tongue over Ray’s, feeling around Ray’s teeth and lips. Every soft movement sent signals through his body, creating a tightness in his chest, a frisson in his gut, and a growing warmth and pressure as his cock grew in his pants.

 

 

He’d never felt like this before – not when he’d kissed girls and had a bit of a grope in a darkened club. He’d enjoyed that well enough, but he’d never felt this electricity mixed with a want – a need – to make Ray feel as good as he did.

 

 

Ray finally pulled away slightly, looking into Chris’s eyes. “You sure you know what yer doin’?” he asked.

 

 

Chris nodded, eyes wide. “I wanted…this, for a long time,” he answered, still gripping Ray’s top. “Jus’…didn’t know what to do,” he finished, looking away and feeling silly.

 

 

“Me neither,” Ray smiled, sliding his hand onto Chris’s neck and rubbing his thumb over Chris’s cheek.

 

 

“But…” Chris stopped and smiled to himself.

 

 

“But wha’?” Ray pushed.

 

 

Chris shrugged. “You always know what t’do,” he grinned. “I’m the one never does the right thing.”

 

 

Ray pulled Chris into a hug. “Don’t talk daft, you div.”

 

 

Chris rested his cheek on Ray’s solid shoulder, his eyes only inches away from the dark bruises on Ray’s jaw.

 

 

“You should be restin’. The nurse said…I mean…”

 

 

Ray wanted to protest, but he knew he needed to rest. Even being up and around for the short time since he’d left the hospital was taking its toll on him.

 

 

“An’ I should…go to work. The Guv’ll be in a right mood…” Chris continued, sounding totally unconvinced.

 

 

Ray shook his head. “Guv said I could keep you as long as I wanted,” he shifted his hold on Chris slightly. “Unless you want t’get back to work,” he grinned.

 

 

“No!” Chris moved quickly, trying to read the expression on Ray’s face. “I mean…I’ll stay, if you want.”

 

 

Ray nodded, then turned, still holding Chris, and walked toward the bedroom.

 

 

Chris could feel his heart pumping in his chest. He didn’t know if it was fear, excitement, or anticipation.

 

 

He watched as Ray tried to struggle out of his sweatshirt, clearly finding it hard with a heavily strapped hand and limited movement.

 

 

Then he stepped forward, reaching out and gently pulling the clothing up and over Ray’s head. Ray gave a slightly embarrassed smile as he emerged from the clothing, and Chris helped ease the cuff over the large bandage on Ray’s hand before turning to fold the sweater over the back of a nearby chair.

 

 

“D’you want me to help…” Chris gestured at Ray’s trousers and shoes.

 

 

Ray smiled. “No, think I’ll manage.”

 

 

“Oh…okay,” Chris nodded. “I’ll be…um…” he gestured to the sitting room.

 

 

“You can’t ‘ave had a very good night’s sleep in that chair,” Ray said quickly.

 

 

Chris shrugged. “It weren’t too bad.”

 

 

Ray gestured at the large double bed. “Space for you, if you want it. ‘Ave a kip, few hours, then mebbe show yer face in work?”

 

 

Chris couldn’t help but smile, then nodded, moving to the opposite side of the bed and unbuttoning his shirt. He hesitated for a second, then also pulled off his trousers, leaving just his underwear on.

 

 

Ray sat on the edge of the bed and carefully toed off his shoes and reached to pull off his socks, hissing as the pain shot through his side.

 

 

“You okay?” Chris asked, worried.

 

 

Ray nodded, pushing his trousers off his ankles and leaving them in a heap on the floor, before carefully lifting the blankets and laying down.

 

 

Chris picked up his side of the cover and sat on the mattress, unsure of himself and his actions. He couldn’t believe he was about to get into bed with another man. The only other time he’d done so was when his cousins used to come and stay when he was little. He’d share his bed with Jonathan, sleeping head to toe, always squabbling over space and who had the blankets until one set of parents had enough and told them off.

 

 

 

He slowly turned around, swinging his legs into the bed and rolled to look at Ray. He kept his distance though, watching as Ray screwed up his face in pain as he shifted around, trying to get comfortable.

 

 

“Do you want a pillow for your hand?” Chris asked. “Like they give you in hospital?”

 

 

Ray shook his head, lifting his heavily bandaged hand up and laying it on his stomach.

 

 

Chris settled his head onto the pillow, watching all the tiny movements of Ray’s face. He could tell Ray was hurting, but he knew there wasn’t anything he could do about it.

 

 

***

 

 

Ray glanced sideways and smiled slightly when he saw Chris, fast asleep, one hand clutching the top of the blankets. He looked even younger asleep.

 

 

He shifted back, looking at the ceiling. He wondered where Blanchard was, and what sort of state Gene had left him in.

 

 

He had never imagined that Blanchard had ever expected anything from their few moments together. He hadn’t even remembered his face, so it had never occurred to him to try to find the man again next time he went back to the club, some months later.

 

 

But he knew that Blanchard had obviously thought about it, kept turning it over in his head until what he’d come up with was some twisted fantasy. And then, by chance, he’d obviously been seen, and Blanchard had managed to follow him and find out where he lived.

 

 

Ray thought about the man who’d stood over him, clearly not afraid. The man who’d formed the plan to kidnap him, all for one reason. All for revenge. He doubted he would still be alive if Gene and Chris hadn’t somehow found him. And he tried not to think about what would have happened before Blanchard had killed him. He would never have thought the young man in the club was capable of such things. Prison had obviously changed him for the worse.

 

 

 

He looked across at Chris again, and dared to wonder if he finally had a chance to actually be with someone, for good. And then he thought about Pete. He turned away, listening to the steady breathing next to him. Life was never that simple.

 

 

***

 

 

Chris woke as the sun rose high in the sky, burning off the morning’s mist and flooding the room with light.

 

 

Ray was propped up on the pillows next to him, a packet of cigarettes on the bedclothes and a full ashtray next to him.

 

 

“Whya in’t you asleep?” Chris asked, rubbing his hand over his face and propping himself up on his elbow.

 

 

Ray shrugged with one shoulder. “Ain’t tired.”

 

 

“You want a drink? Or food? You di’n’t eat breakfast, remember?” Chris offered.

 

 

“Nah, ‘m all right,” Ray winced slightly as he turned to stub out his cigarette in the ashtray.

 

 

Chris pushed himself upright, sitting with the bedclothes pooled around his waist. Ray let his gaze linger on Chris’s smooth back, the cleft of his buttocks just visible above the elastic of his underwear.

 

 

“Are we…” Chris started, then shook his head.

 

 

“Are we what?” Ray asked, lighting two cigarettes and passing one to Chris.

 

 

Chris accepted it, shrugging. “Are we queer, or summat?”

 

 

Ray smiled, blowing out a plume of smoke. “Wha’ d’you think?”

 

 

Chris shuffled around a bit, so he could see Ray. “Mebbe…we are?”

 

 

Ray nodded slowly. “There ain’t a maybe, not for me.”

 

 

“’Ave you…done…this with other people?” Chris asked stiltedly.

 

 

“Yeah, a few,” Ray answered, trying to gauge Chris’s reaction.

 

 

“Oh. Thought, maybe, it were just me…I mean…I never…never done owt, with anyone else.”

 

 

Ray stroked the fraying edge of the bandage on his hand, laying the threads flat, then messing them up again. “There’s only one…what’s…what’s meant owt. Before you, I mean.”

 

 

Chris found himself staring into Ray’s icy-blue eyes. He knew he shouldn’t ask, he knew it was rude, and none of his business. But he couldn’t help it.

 

 

“Why…what ‘appened to ‘im?”

 

 

Ray dropped his gaze again. “He died,” then he quickly continued. “A long time ago,” hoping to forestall any further questions.

 

 

“Oh. Sorry,” Chris didn’t know how to feel. Had the other man still been alive, perhaps he would never had had this chance with Ray. But, to lose someone you loved, he could only imagine how awful that would be. He’d almost had a taste of it the other night as he’d held Ray in his arms.

 

 

Ray shook his head, trying to indicate there was no need.

 

 

Chris hesitantly reached out and stroked his hand over the lump in the bedclothes that was Ray’s leg.

 

 

“I should get to the station, I suppose,” Chris said reluctantly. “Can see what the Guv’s done with Blanchard.”

 

 

“Yeah,” Ray answered. Then realised the implications of Chris possibly sitting in on an interview with Blanchard. “You should know…” he started, then didn’t know what to say.

 

 

“What?” Chris asked.

 

 

“Blanchard…what…there’s history, right, ‘s why he…got me.”

 

 

“I know you arrested him before – the Guv told me - and we talked about it, remember? In the hospital?”

 

 

“No…there’s more. I mean…what ‘appened. Why we arrested ‘im. Why he…got me.”

 

 

“You mean, what he did, like?” Chris asked.

 

 

Ray nodded.

 

 

The silence stretched as Ray tried to work out exactly what to say.

 

 

“Ray?” Chris prompted, moving his hand onto Ray’s thigh.

 

 

“He…I met him, once, in a bar. In a club…a club for…where blokes went, for sex. We…y’know, just once, in the club.” Ray looked up and saw the horror and hurt in Chris’s eyes. He wished he’d never started trying to explain, but he knew it had to be better than Chris hearing it from Blanchard or Gene. “I never saw him again – until, he must’ve seen me again, followed me…he found out where I lived. He started…he sent letters, threats…in the end I ‘ad to tell the Guv. He helped me. We found out who Blanchard was, who he was in with – blags he’d done, that sorta thing. So we sent him down. That’s why he hates me so much.”

 

 

Chris removed his hand from Ray’s leg and wrapped his arms around himself. “Why di’n’t you see him again?” he asked.

 

 

“It ain’t like that, Chris – it were a club. No names, just sex. It were still illegal back then, in ‘67 – I’d’ve lost me job, could’ve gone inside. I never knew he’d try anything. Even when he come back, after it were legal, I couldn’t have stayed in the job if it’d got out.”

 

 

“I knew you in ’67,” Chris said quietly. “’S when we met.”

 

 

Ray nodded. “Aye, I know. I remember everythin’ about the first time I spoke t’you.”

 

 

“An’ you were…”

 

 

“It weren’t like I slept around, Chris. Christ, it was…I hardly ever did it, but I’m only human.”

 

 

“I’ve never…” Chris started, feeling tears filling his eyes. “’S this what this is about? You just want a quicky? An’ you know it’s safe cos I can’t tell anyone, jus’ like you can’t?”

 

 

“No! No, Chris, it ain’t like that. It’s…you’re…this ain’t the same. You know what you mean t’me.”

 

 

Chris sniffed wetly. “’M goin’ t’work.” He stood, leaving behind the mess of bedclothes, and pulled on his trousers.

 

 

“Don’t, Chris,” Ray struggled out of bed himself, hand clamped over his side.

 

 

“I should, Guv’ll want me there,” Chris answered, not looking at Ray.

 

 

“But you’ll come back?” Ray asked, hearing the desperation in his voice.

 

 

Chris shrugged, continuing to dress.

 

 

“Chris, please…look, it’s not like we were together…I’d never…I can’t change what I’ve done, can I?”

 

 

“Just…I just wanna think, right?” Chris answered. “I’ll come back. Just…dunno if it’ll be tonight.”

 

 

Ray sagged slightly, staring at the carpet. He had always known it wouldn’t be easy, but he’d never expected to mess it all up within the first few hours.

 

 

“If…if you don’t want this…I ain’t gonna do nothin’ to make you. I mean…I ain’t going to make life ‘ard or say nowt down the station, right? I ain’t like that.”

 

 

Chris nodded slowly, not knowing if Ray was really trying to be reasonable and not pressure him, or if Ray really didn’t want this at all. Then he looked up and saw the utterly miserable look on Ray’s face. He reached out and took Ray’s uninjured hand, giving Ray’s fingers a slight squeeze, making Ray look up at him.

 

 

He gave a small smile, trying to cheer Ray up, but not knowing what to say.

 

 

Ray nodded once, then watched as Chris stamped his feet into his shoes.

 

 

Once the front door had shut behind Chris, Ray didn’t move, trying to work out what had happened and what he could do about it.

 

 

 

Finally, he pulled his trousers back on and headed for the kitchen, turning on the kettle. He wished he knew what was going on in Chris’s head.

 

 

He sat at the kitchen table, hands wrapped around the warm mug, staring into the milky depths of the tea, not having a clue what he should do. He didn’t suppose there was anything he could do until Chris returned. If he ever did.


	24. Chapter 24

Chris entered the CID office quietly, keeping his head down, and headed for his desk. He thought he’d made it as he sat down and grabbed a file from the pile by his elbow, trying to look as if he’d been there for hours. Then, Gene’s office door opened.

 

 

“Skelton, a word.”

 

 

Chris looked around, as if perhaps there was someone else Gene might be referring to. Then he stood up, head down, and walked past the DCI into his office.

 

 

Gene closed the door behind him and took his time sitting down, taking in how uncomfortable the younger man looked.

 

 

“So how is ‘e?” he asked.

 

 

Chris looked startled. “Um, Ray? ‘S fine, Guv. I mean…he ain’t, but he’s…y’know.”

 

 

Gene nodded. “He letting you help him? Or being a stubborn bastard as usual?”

 

 

“He’s…um, I’m tryin’, Guv,” Chris nodded.

 

 

Gene nodded slowly, trying to figure out exactly what was going on. “Good. Keep at ‘im. He won’t ask for help even if he needs it.”

 

 

Chris nodded. “Yes, Guv.”

 

 

The silence stretched out, until Chris suddenly blurted out: “He told me why you arrested Blanchard – I mean, the real reason, not the one he got put away for.”

 

 

Gene took a long breath in, then blew out, nodding again.

 

 

“Is it true?” Chris pushed. “What ‘e said about him an’ Blanchard?”

 

 

“What did he tell you?” Gene asked.

 

 

“That he…they…met. In a club. And…and then later, he…sent letters…an’…”

 

 

Gene nodded, filling in the silences, knowing why Chris didn’t want to say the words. “Aye, it’s true.”

 

 

“An’ you didn’t…lots of people’d ‘ave lost their job over that, Guv. But you…”

 

 

“Ray’s a good copper and a good mate. And he ain’t doin’ anything illegal. Stupid, maybe, but not illegal. So he’s keepin’ his nose clean, and I’m keeping out of his private life.”

 

 

Chris nodded.

 

 

“Is this goin’ to affect you an’ him workin’ together?” Gene asked, eyes narrowing.

 

 

“No!” Chris answered, far too fast. “I mean, no Guv, it…it don’t bother me.”

 

 

“Good.”

 

 

Chris wondered whether he was allowed to leave, but didn’t dare ask. Gene finally gave in and waved him away. “Go on, get back to work. An’ check Ray’s cases, anything needs doing, bring it to me, I’ll sort out who picks ‘em up.”

 

 

Chris nodded, grateful to have something to do.

 

 

 

At break time Chris got himself a cup of tea and found some bourbons that someone had brought in. He made his way up to the roof, sitting in the cold breeze, dunking his biscuits in his tea until they were so soggy they almost disintegrated. He looked across the grey city, wondering if he could work out which of the tower blocks he could see was Ray’s.

 

 

He’d spent two hours listening to the ranting of Blanchard, the man was clearly unhinged, and the hatred he felt toward Ray and Gene scared Chris. He knew they could put him away now, and for a long time, hopefully. But he also knew there would be a day when Blanchard walked free again, and the thought terrified him. He couldn’t work out why on Earth Ray would ever be attracted to a person like that. It wasn’t that Blanchard was bad looking, he was just such a horrible, venomous person.

 

 

But, when Gene said it, he had realised how stupid it seemed that something in Ray’s past could affect his friendship – relationship – with him now. The past was the past, and there was nothing anyone could do about it. Chris could, however, make a big change to both of their futures. 

 

 

***

 

 

Gene strode through the office, watching as people packed up for the day, shrugging on thick coats and wrapping up in scarves. He saw Chris putting his cigarettes and lighter into the pocket of his coat.

 

 

“Skelton. I’m goin’ to see Raymondo. You want a lift?”

 

 

“Um…” Chris wanted to get to Ray as fast as possible, but the last thing he needed was for the Guv to be there too. “Yeah, thanks, Guv.”

 

 

“Right, come on then,” Gene began walking, leaving Chris no room for arguments.

 

 

***

 

 

Ray awoke to the sound of the doorbell and stood quickly, grimacing as pain shot through his side. He glanced at the clock and realised he’d been asleep for most of the day, even if it felt as if he’d barely shut his eyes.

 

 

He limped to the door and pulled it open.

 

 

“Chris,” he said, smiling, then noticed Gene leaning on the wall next to the doorway. “Guv, um, come in.”

 

 

Gene looked from his sergeant to his DC. He’d assumed Chris’s strange mood from earlier was because Ray had been giving him a hard time, but it seemed now as if the opposite were true. Ray seemed far more pleased to see Chris than vice versa. He walked past Ray into the small sitting room and glanced around.

 

 

“So? How are you?” he asked.

 

 

“Fine, Guv. I mean, y’know, okay, considerin’,” Ray answered, trying to focus on Gene when he wanted to be looking at Chris, who stood in the doorway, refusing to make eye contact.

 

 

Gene nodded once, feeling as if he were missing something. “Good.”

 

 

The silence stretched, so Gene nodded again, not knowing what else to say or do.

 

 

“You want a beer, Guv?” Ray offered, not wanting Gene to accept.

 

 

“No, no. I’ll leave you to it. Ray, you need anything, call me.”

 

 

Ray nodded, glancing at Chris again.

 

 

“I don’t mind helpin’ out, like,” Chris quickly said. “I mean, Ray’s given me the keys to ‘is car, so…”

 

 

Gene raised his eyebrows. No one had ever been allowed to borrow the Capri before, and it surprised Gene that Ray had handed the car to Chris – a bloke whom Gene wouldn’t trust with a pushbike. “Right, even better then. Call Chris.”

 

 

He reached out and gave Ray’s bicep a pat, before heading for the front door. He needed a good long drink to help him work out exactly when Chris had somehow usurped him as Ray’s new best mate.

 

 

***

 

 

Once Gene had left, the flat was silent and still. Ray watched Chris as the younger man neither moved nor spoke, choosing instead to stare at his feet, as if he didn’t even know Ray was there.

 

 

“You came back,” Ray said, unnecessarily.

 

 

Chris looked up and nodded. “Didn’t mean to bring the Guv, but he were worried about you.”

 

 

Ray nodded, waiting for Chris to continue, not wanting to push him.

 

 

“Thought I could go out, get us pie an’ chips,” Chris continued. “Don’t suppose you’ve ate anything all day, ‘ave you?”

 

 

It wasn’t what Ray had expected to hear, but he found himself nodding, assuming that if they were to eat together, then Chris was at least staying for the evening, if not beyond.

 

 

Ray pulled out his wallet and handed it to Chris. “Get it outta that.”

 

 

Chris smiled and nodded.

 

 

“I’ll ‘ave…” Ray started, but Chris butted in.

 

 

“Steak an’ kidney with gravy. I know.”

 

 

Ray smiled, oddly touched that Chris had noticed his preference.

 

 

“I’ll be back in a minute,” Chris said, heading out the door again, leaving Ray to wonder just what was going on inside the younger man’s head.

 

 

He slowly gathered together plates and cutlery, setting it out on the small table. He then managed, after a fair bit of cursing, to open two cans of beer.

 

 

By the time Chris returned Ray realised he was a little hungry.

 

 

Chris smiled when he saw the table and unwrapped the newsprint packages, putting the food on the plates. “Di’n’t ‘ave to go to this trouble. Could ‘ave had it from the paper,” he commented.

 

 

Ray shrugged. “No trouble.”

 

 

They sat down and Chris tucked into his food as Ray pushed some chips through the pool of gravy on his plate.

 

 

“So,” he started, not knowing how to continue. “You…had time to…think?”

 

 

Chris shrugged then nodded. “I know…I can’t expect you to…t’s in the past, ain’t it? So…everyone’s got a past. An’ there’s nothing anyone can do to change that.”

 

 

Ray nodded slowly.

 

 

“This mornin’…I just didn’t think you’d ever have gone with anyone like…like that. I mean, people you di’n’t even know. In clubs like…that.”

 

 

“It’s not…” then Ray stopped. He couldn’t tell Chris that he went out looking for nameless sex to make up for the fact Chris wasn’t in his life. “I don’t do it now,” he finished.

 

 

Chris gave a small smile. “I know.”

 

 

Ray put his fork down and reached out, taking Chris’s hand in his own.

 

 

Chris smiled, entwining his fingers with Ray’s.

 

 

“Blanchard, he were saying horrible things today. I mean, what he wanted t’do to you. Said he was gonna kill you, an’…other things.”

 

 

“Well he di’n’t, thanks to you an’ the Guv, so forget him,” Ray said, picking up his fork again.

 

 

Chris watched him closely, sure that there was a lot Ray wasn’t saying, but unwilling to push him. “It were the Guv put two an’ two together,” he finally answered.

 

 

Ray nodded once. “He’s a good copper. The best. We’re both lucky to be on ’is team.”

 

 

“I know,” Chris answered.

 

 

 

Once they’d eaten and Chris had washed up, they sat on the sofa, the TV on. Chris rested against Ray, smiling as he felt Ray’s arm slide around his shoulders.

 

 

Ray rested his lips against Chris’s hair, watching as Chris hesitantly slid a hand across his thigh, the gentle touch of his fingers sending a tingle of pleasure to his groin.

 

 

“When’ve you gotta get back t’the hospital?” Chris asked, moving his hand to stroke down on of Ray’s exposed fingers.

 

 

“Tuesday,” Ray answered. “Gotta see the surgeon or summat, just a check up.”

 

 

“They say when you can come back to work?”

 

 

Ray shook his head. “S’pose they gotta see ‘ow it’s doing first.”

 

 

“Ain’t the same, wi’out you,” Chris murmured. “’S boring. There’s no one else works the same.”

 

 

Ray smiled to himself. “I’ll be back soon. I ‘ate sitting doin’ nowt.”

 

 

“Maybe you could come in an’ just…do stuff in the office, or summat?” Chris ventured.

 

 

Ray gave him a look. “I ‘ate paperwork more’n I ‘ate sitting and doing nowt.”

 

 

“It’d be nice, though, to ‘ave you around,” Chris moved to give Ray a smile.

 

 

Ray smiled back, deciding he could probably make it into work, even if just to spend the time doing all the jobs he never usually got around to.

 

 

***

 

 

Ray had been back at the station for four days when he leant around the door to Gene’s office. “Guv, gotta get to the ‘ospital. You all right if Chris gives us a lift over there?”

 

 

Gene waved a hand and nodded. “Whatever you need, Raymondo.”

 

 

Ray walked back through the office, beckoning Chris after him. “Guv says you can give me a lift to the Doc’s,” he smiled.

 

 

Chris grinned. “Like a chauffer?”

 

 

Ray nodded. “Aye, you’d look right bonny in a peak cap an’ suit ‘n all,” he said in a low voice.

 

 

Chris blushed. “Wanker,” he muttered.

 

 

“Div,” Ray grinned back.

 

 

 

Once at the hospital Chris reached around into the back seat and retrieved a newspaper.

 

 

“What’re you doing?” Ray asked.

 

 

“Waitin’,” Chris answered, as if it should be obvious.

 

 

“You don’t ‘ave to.”

 

 

Chris shrugged. “You gotta get back t’the station some’ow, I’ll just take this as me lunch break.”

 

 

Ray smiled. He was more than a little worried at what the surgeon might tell him. Although he’d told everyone his hand was fine, he still couldn’t move it and the scars were angry and red. He hated feeling like some sort of cripple, unable to do simple chores for himself. The one good thing, he supposed, was that it meant that he and Chris were being forced to take things slowly. And, whilst he would have been more than happy to jump on Chris the moment they were alone together, he knew Chris needed to get used to the idea of what they were doing. So far their relationship – if you could even call it that – had consisted of cuddles on the sofa and holding each other as they slept. Ray had never taken anything so slowly, and he hoped it meant that when they finally got around to sex, it would be all the sweeter for it.

 

 

He sat on the hard plastic chair in the corridor outside the surgeon’s room trying to do his best to flex his fingers a tiny bit. He wanted to prove he was going to be just fine.

 

 

When he was finally called in, the man smiled as he offered Ray a chair.

 

 

“Now, let’s have a look. Yes, we’ll need to examine your hand, and your side – how is that feeling now?”

 

 

Ray gave a half shrug and nodded. “Bit tender, I s’pose.”

 

 

“Right, well, if you’d remove your jacket and shirt, I can have a look at that. I hope you’re still taking it easy? Nothing strenuous?”

 

 

Ray shook his head. “’Aven’t done nowt,” he replied, only half lying.

 

 

Once he was stripped to the waist, the surgeon had the nurse who was assisting him remove the now tatty dressing. He glanced down at it and saw a small bloom of blood on it, now dried and brown.

 

 

“Hmmm, yes,” the surgeon said, gently pulling Ray’s skin this way and that. “Yes, that is fine – but you really must be careful. You obviously pulled the stitches at some point. I can’t imagine you would have missed doing so. The discomfort would have been quite apparent.”

 

 

Ray shrugged again, remembering the exact moment he’d twisted around on the sofa to grab a kiss from Chris and felt the bite of pain in his side.

 

 

“But that’s doing very well. I imagine we may even remove the stitches next week,” the man smiled. “And you may now take a bath or shower – however, you must pay extra attention to drying this area – very gently, and with nothing which could leave behind fibres – such as cotton wool. Just use an ordinary bath towel and press it gently on the area.”

 

 

Ray looked down at the wound. It was still ugly, its edges pulled together by the black stitches which sat proud of his skin.

 

 

“And now, your hand, let’s have a look at that. If you wouldn’t mind, Valerie?”

 

 

The nurse obligingly cut away at the bandages and dressings, carefully wrapping them up and disposing of them whilst gently resting Ray’s hand down on a pillow she collected from the bed. “There you are, sir,” she smiled.

 

 

Ray nodded his thanks, trying his best not to look at his battered appendage.

 

 

“Ah yes, let’s see. Hmm. And do you have any movement at all in it, yet? Don’t do anything which hurts.”

 

 

Ray managed the slightest movements, but even that sent shooting pains through his fingers.

 

 

“Right, no, no, don’t do any more. We wouldn’t really expect too much now. You see, where we have had to mend the tendon, and the sheath around it we’ve put in stitches, which will naturally dissolve as time passes. So next week, perhaps we’ll be able to encourage a little more movement, but there really is no rushing this early stage of healing. What we’ll do is bandage it up again, and splint it. It will restrict your movement, but you can remove it all, should you need to, for bathing – provided, of course, that you take the utmost care when you do so.”

 

 

Ray nodded obediently. He’d been grateful to Chris for helping him wash with a wet flannel, but nothing was the same as a proper shower or a soak in the bath.

 

 

“’Course, doc.”

 

 

The surgeon scowled slightly. “It’s mister – I’m a surgeon, not a doctor.”

 

 

Ray nodded obediently, neither knowing nor caring what the difference was. “Alright, mate. As it goes, then, it’s Sergeant Carling. But I’ll let you go wi’ calling me mister an’ all.”

 

 

The surgeon scowled. “Right – let me call up the plaster room, they’ll sort you out a splint. Valerie, if you could take Mister Carling along there.”

 

 

“That it then?” Ray asked. “I can go after that?”

 

 

“Yes. Return here at the same time next week for another check up. And remember, by trying to rush things you will be more likely to set back your recovery.”

 

 

Ray nodded, smiling at the nurse as she helped him re-button his shirt and picked up his jacket for him.

 

 

“This way, sir,” she smiled and opened the door for him.

 

 

“Thanks.”

 

 

They walked down the corridor until she turned into another room. “Here we go. They’ll take care of you now, sir,” she smiled, handing him his jacket back, her fingers brushing against his stomach.

 

 

Ray nodded his thanks, watching as she walked away. She turned back and smiled again, and Ray realised she would have certainly got completely the wrong end of the stick. He shook his head as he walked through the door.

 

 

***

 

 

He walked back across the car park, a smile on his face. Chris jumped as the door opened and threw his newspaper into the back.

 

 

“You okay then?” he asked, glad that Ray seemed happy.

 

 

“Aye. Doc says it’s fine.” Ray held up his newly-bandaged hand. “Says I can take the bandages off an’ ‘ave a shower too.”

 

 

Chris grinned. “Still need my help to wash though, won’t you?”

 

 

Ray felt the smile spread across his face as he understood what Chris was hinting at. “Definitely.”


	25. Chapter 25

Once they were back in CID, Gene spotted Ray sitting on the edge of Chris’s desk, talking through a case with him.

 

 

“Raymondo, in ‘ere,” Gene called.

 

 

Ray rolled his eyes at Chris and ambled into the small office, watching as Gene poured two long slugs of whiskey into mugs.

 

 

“Ain’t meant to drink, on them tablets they give me,” he said, unconvincingly.

 

 

Gene gave him a look. “An’ when did you ever do what you were told?”

 

 

Ray grinned and picked up the drink, sitting on the arm of the sofa.

 

 

“So what’d they say?” Gene asked, gesturing to Ray.

 

 

“All goin’ to plan, they reckon. Gimme a new bandage,” he held up his hand. “Says I still gotta take things easy, but ‘part from that, all okay.”

 

 

“Bloody good,” Gene smiled. “Need you back, Ray. There’s word going around that Gallagher’s going to move – his missus wants out of the city, so he’s moving divisions. You know what that means, Ray.”

 

 

Ray nodded. The squad would need a new DI. Ray couldn’t help but smile.

 

 

“Aye, Guv.”

 

 

“Good. I know I can count on you, Ray.” Gene raised his mug in salute and Ray mirrored his action before taking a long swig.

 

 

“An’ who’d ‘ave thought it, all them years ago, after you’d nicked that money off me Mum. I tell you, if you ‘adn’t joined up, and I’d’ve seen you in this city back then, you’d not ‘ave lived to be ‘ere now.”

 

 

Ray gave half a smile. “You know I di’n’t mean that, Guv. It were nowt against you, or yer Mam.”

 

 

Gene snorted, but nodded. He had forgiven Ray long ago.

 

 

 

Chris looked up as Ray exited the office about an hour later. He had heard laughter from inside a few times, and he couldn’t help but feel a tinge of jealousy. Not only were Ray and the Guv clearly doing no work, but they were also together, joking around, without him. He ducked his head as Ray glanced toward him, pretending not to be watching.

 

 

“Chris, wi’ me,” Ray called. “We’re goin’ to ‘ave a chat about your case with them shopkeepers.”

 

 

Chris smiled, glad that he would now get some time with Ray, alone and away from the office.

 

 

 

Once they were in the car, Chris looked across to Ray.

 

 

“What’s put you in such a good mood?”

 

 

Ray just smiled more. “You’ll find out, soon enough.”

 

 

Chris frowned a little, but knew he’d have to wait.

 

 

***

 

 

That night, once they were home, Ray shrugged out of his jacket and began unwinding his bandage.

 

 

“Want a hand?” Chris asked.

 

 

“Aye, I do seem to be one short,” Ray shot back.

 

 

“I meant…” Chris started, guiltily. But then saw Ray smiling.

 

 

Chris grinned, stripping off his own jacket and heading to the bathroom to find towels and turn the water on. Once the shower was running, he turned back to where Ray was attempting to undo his shirt buttons with slightly more success than before. Chris still gently pushed Ray’s hands aside though and did the job himself, kissing Ray as he did so. Ray immediately surrendered, trying to wrap his arm around Chris’s waist to pull him closer. Chris pushed him away, giggling. “’Ot water’s goin’ down the plug’ole, c’mon,” he finished with Ray’s shirt and undid the button at his waistband, then slid the zip down. He turned away, shrugging out of his own shirt, knowing Ray would follow.

 

 

A minute later, Ray was standing under the hot spray, head tipped back, feeling the water wash away not only the dirt and grime, but also working on all his aches and pains from the old bruises.

 

 

Chris stepped into the bathtub, moving close to Ray, running his hands over Ray’s muscular chest. He picked up a flannel and the soap, making a lather and gently rubbing it over Ray’s skin.

 

 

Ray sighed, smiling. Feeling Chris close to him was seriously turning him on, and he knew it wouldn’t be long before Chris noticed.

 

 

He tipped his head forward, opening his eyes and blinking away the water.

 

 

“C’m’ere,” he said gruffly, sliding his wet hand over Chris’s cheek and pulling him into a long kiss. Then he allowed himself to explore Chris’s body further, sliding his hand down the skinny body, over Chris’s flat stomach and down to his groin.

 

 

Chris gave a little gasp as Ray’s fingers wrapped around his cock, the grip firm. Then Ray’s hand began to move and Chris couldn’t help but moan a little, dropping his head to rest against Ray’s shoulder.

 

 

Ray moved so he could kiss Chris’s ear, running the tip of his tongue around it. He could feel Chris getting harder in his hand with every stroke and dipped his index finger down, dragging it up over Chris’s balls, feeling the tight scrotum and knowing Chris wasn’t going to last long.

 

 

He shifted slightly, moving to make Chris look up at him. Chris lifted his head, and his mouth was immediately caught in a deep kiss. He reached around Ray and grabbed Ray’s buttocks, pulling them close together, feeling Ray’s erection pressing into him.

 

 

When he came he thought he’d collapse, the muscles in his legs were shaking so hard. Ray wrapped his other arm around Chris’s waist, trying his best to support the younger man whilst keeping his injured hand out of danger, squeezing them close together.

 

 

He panted into Ray’s mouth, moaning as the warm water running between them only served to heighten his pleasure.

 

 

Ray finally let go of Chris’s softening dick and lifted his hand through the spray, washing it clean. Then he stroked his fingers down Chris’s cheek and reached for another soft kiss.

 

 

“All right?” he asked.

 

 

Chris smiled and nodded, a dopey expression on his face. He looked down at Ray’s hard-on, then gently ran his fingertips over Ray’s hip and down to his bollocks, feeling the softness, like his own, but somehow so very different.

 

 

He looked up to see that Ray’s eyes were closed so he experimentally closed his fist around Ray’s shaft, trying to judge just how tightly he held himself. Then he moved, stroking up and down. Ray’s cock was thicker than his own and he adjusted his hold, moving his fingers until he could stroke the full length, watching Ray’s foreskin moving and stretching.

 

 

Ray tried to bite back a moan and reached out, needing to feel Chris’s skin, needing more contact. His fingers slid over Chris’s wet skin until his forearm rested on Chris’s hip, his fingers finding the cleft of Chris’s buttocks.

 

 

“Yeah,” he panted, thrusting his hips in time with Chris’s movements. “Oh, God.”

 

 

Chris smiled, unbelievably happy that he was the one making Ray feel that good.

 

 

Ray felt the tightness collecting in his groin, then curling out, unleashing the pleasure of orgasm. He pulled Chris closer, pressing their bodies together, trapping Chris’s hand but still pumping his hips, gasping in pleasure.

 

 

Chris felt the sticky warmth running over his hand and belly, hot and slick. He stood still, pressed against Ray, the water running over their backs.

 

 

Finally Ray released his hold on Chris, still breathing hard. He steadied himself against the wall as Chris washed himself, taking in every plane of the lithe body.

 

 

Chris picked up the bottle of shampoo and held it up. “I’ll do yours first,” he offered.

 

 

Ray smiled, turning around and allowing Chris to reach up and shampoo his hair. He closed his eyes as the bubbles ran over his face, then stepped back under the spray when Chris ordered him to.

 

 

Finally, they were both washed and Ray stepped out of the bathtub, waiting for Chris to turn off the water. He handed over a towel and picked one up himself.

 

 

Chris looked at him, making eye contact and smiling shyly.

 

 

“What?” Ray asked.

 

 

Chris shook his head. “I never…done anythin’ like that ‘fore.”

 

 

Ray smiled too. “And?”

 

 

Chris shrugged, looking down at the floor. “Was nice.”

 

 

Ray laughed. “Jus’ ‘nice’?”

 

 

Chris looked up again. “Great?” he ventured.

 

 

“Aye,” Ray laughed. “’S more ‘ow it was for me.”

 

 

Chris wrapped his towel around his waist and walked from the bathroom, leaving a trail of wet footprints.

 

 

“Thought I’d do us bangers ‘n mash,” he called.

 

 

Ray shook his head, grinning to himself. Chris never ceased to surprise him. “Aye, sounds good. An’ some gravy, right?”

 

 

***

 

 

That night they lay in bed, Ray with his arm wrapped over Chris.

 

 

“So…is that what we…do?” Chris asked.

 

 

“Huh?” Ray answered eloquently, broken from his thoughts about just how good Chris’s bum felt pressed against his groin.

 

 

“In the shower, earlier…’s that what…queers do?”

 

 

Ray gave a small shrug. “Yeah, sometimes.”

 

 

“What about…sex? I mean, like…proper sex, rather’n a wank?”

 

 

“Do that too,” Ray answered. “If we want.”

 

 

Chris wriggled, turning over to face Ray. “Yeah, but…like what? I mean, d’you really…put yer plonker up someone’s arse?”

 

 

Ray couldn’t hide the smile tugging at his lips. “Aye. An’ right romantic you make it sound, too.”

 

 

Chris frowned. “It don’t sound very nice. I mean, for the one what’s being the girl.”

 

 

Ray slid his fingers over Chris’s chest. “It’s…mebbe the first time, or if you ain’t with the right person, no, sometimes it ain’t that good. But when you do it right…’s better than being the top. It’s better ‘n anything else you’ll ever know.”

 

 

Chris didn’t look at all convinced.

 

 

“If you don’t want t’do it, we don’t ‘ave to,” Ray reassured. “You want me to ‘ave all the fun, ‘s fine.”

 

 

Chris’s eyes widened slightly. “You mean you’d let me…”

 

 

Ray nodded. “’Course. It ain’t like…we’re both blokes, right, one of us ain’t the girl and the other the fella, ‘S not how it works. Well – ain’t for me. Some people like it that way, I suppose. But the way I see it, we can both do both.”

 

 

Chris nodded, but looked unsure.

 

 

“Main thing is, don’t worry ‘bout it, an’ don’t do it if you don’t want,” Ray finished, hoping he was reassuring Chris and finishing his statement by pressing a kiss onto his forehead.

 

 

“It can’t be very…” Chris hesitated. “Clean,” he finished.

 

 

“It’s fine, ‘s long as you’re prepared right,” Ray answered. “You ‘ave a bit of a clean out first – it’s dead simple, I’ll show you, when it comes to it. There’s nowt dirty or nasty about it – whatever you ‘ear other people sayin’. They just don’t know what they’re on about ‘s all.”

 

 

Chris snuggled up to Ray and settled against him. He still had a lot of questions, but he trusted Ray and knew he had time to ask them. He reached down and adjusted his balls, smiling as he remembered just how good it had felt when Ray’s hand had been touching him earlier.

 

 

***

 

 

Three weeks later Gallagher left the department, and the whole of CID stayed on after hours, first drinking every drop of booze in the station, including a number of Party Seven’s which Gene had produced for the occasion. Then, as was tradition, they moved on to the Arms. For Ray it was a double celebration, as he had finally been allowed back on full duty, although he had been warned of the dire consequences of throwing any punches or otherwise doing anything which might damage his hand and set back his recovery.

 

 

He stood in the pub, an arm around Chris’s shoulders, singing along with a bawdy song that someone had started. He knew that it would only be a matter of time now before Gene made his promotion official.

 

 

In fact, it was two days until Gene finally called him into the office, gesturing to the seat opposite his own.

 

 

“Sit down, Ray.”

 

 

Ray frowned. Gene wasn’t usually so serious. He began to think perhaps this meeting wasn’t about his bump up to DI, but maybe about a case or some other problem.

 

 

“What I said, Ray, a few weeks ago…seems like…seems like someone else had other ideas.”

 

 

Ray frowned. “What d’you mean, Guv?”

 

 

“I mean…I got a message, today. We’ve got a new officer comin’ in. From Hyde. A new DI.”

 

 

Ray stared. “You mean…”

 

 

“You ain’t got it, Ray, not this time.”

 

 

Ray didn’t move, trying to let the news sink in. “Why…I mean…” he shook his head, unable to find the words.

 

 

“Weren’t my choice. You know I’d’ve ‘ad you. But this is orders, from the top brass. They didn’t ask me, they just told me this is how it is. I argued, told ‘em what I thought of it…but there we go. There ain’t nothing I can do about it.”

 

 

Ray felt worse than as if he’d been punched, but he nodded anyway. There was no point doing or saying anything.

 

 

“Ray…” Gene shook his head. “It ain’t fair, but you’ll get there. Not this time, but there’ll be other chances.”

 

 

Ray nodded again. “Aye. I mean, yeah, Guv.”

 

 

“All right then, carry on,” Gene waved at the door.

 

 

Ray walked out into the office, heading for his desk, fumbling in his pocket for his cigarettes. He slumped into his seat, lighting up and taking a deep drag. His mind wandered over the reasons why he’d been overlooked for the promotion. Maybe someone knew about him and Chris. Maybe someone had taken what Blanchard had been ranting about in the interviews seriously. Maybe he just wasn’t good enough.

 

 

***

 

 

Chris noticed Ray’s odd demeanour, and as soon as he could, grabbed up a random file from his desk and headed for Ray, glancing around to see if anyone else had noticed something was amiss.

 

 

He leant over the desk, flipping the file open.

 

 

“Wha’s the matter?” he asked in a low voice.

 

 

“Guv’s just got word, some bastard’s transferrin’ in, into Bernie’s job. They’ve give’ it to someone off another division.”

 

 

Chris frowned, wondering just why this was such a terrible thing to have happened. Then his eyes widened and he realised.

 

 

“An’ you thought…that should be your job!” he finished, indignantly. No one had quite said as much, but it had been obvious ever since Gallagher’s imminent departure was announced that everyone had assumed Ray would be offered the job.

 

 

Ray looked at Chris with a slightly funny expression. “Aye,” he said softly.

 

 

Chris wanted to take Ray in his arms and hug him, but he knew he couldn’t, not in the office.

 

 

“’M sorry,” he said. “It ain’t fair.”

 

 

Ray gave a slight snort, then turned back to his work, not taking anything in. He wondered what the new bloke would be like, and realised he already hated him.

 

 

He didn’t get anything done, just sat and stared at his paperwork, wondering what the point was. He was the best the department had. His clear up rate was better than everyone else put together. And it still wasn’t enough.

 

 

Finally Gene strode through the office. “Ray, they’ve brought Kenny Jones in, we need to ‘ave a chat with him.”

 

 

Ray stood up and trailed after Gene, his cigarettes and lighter in his hand. 

 

 

The man sat in Lost and Found, handcuffs around his wrists. He looked up when Gene and Ray walked into the room.

 

 

“Mr ‘Unt,” he acknowledged.

 

 

Gene grunted in reply, pulling out a chair, the metal legs grating on the floor.

 

 

Ray walked behind the man and stood with his back to the wall, arms crossed. He wondered if Gene would use his new DI for the role of intimidator soon. Would the new bloke fit in? Would he back up Gene like Ray always had? Ray doubted it, somehow. His loyalty to Gene was borne of many years of friendship, and the feeling that, since their first meeting, he’d always owed Gene something. It would have been easy for Gene to take him in that day, have him charged, and probably sent to some approved school.

 

 

“Was lookin’ for you the other day, Kenny,” Gene started, lighting himself a cigarette. “Heard a whisper you knew summat about these jewellers getting turned over.”

 

 

The man fidgeted, wiping his nose on his sleeve. “No, Mr. ‘Unt, wouldn’t know nowt ‘bout that.”

 

 

Gene leant back in his chair, watching the younger man.

 

 

“People tell me different.”

 

 

The man shifted a little bit in his seat. Ray took a step forward.

 

 

“Why’d they tell me it were you then?” Gene enquired softly.

 

 

“I…I dunno. I mean…I dunno why anyone’d say that…I ain’t…”

 

 

Ray grabbed a fistful of the snivelling man’s hair, pulling his head back. “Then you better ‘ave a think then, ‘adn’t you?” he hissed, feeling the man shaking in his grasp.

 

 

“But I…it weren’t me, I dunno who it were. Someone’s tryin’ to set me up – honest!”

 

 

Gene gave Ray a look and Ray let go, pushing Jones’ face towards the desk.

 

 

“So if we went ‘round your gaff, there wouldn’t be anything there?” Gene enquired.

 

 

Jones tensed.

 

 

“There’s only one way you can save your ‘orrible scrawny neck,” Gene leant forward, blowing smoke in Jones’ face. “Who did you do it with? I know you ain’t got the brains to work it out on your own.”

 

 

“I…I can’t…” Jones started.

 

 

Ray drove his fist into Jones’ jaw, knocking him from the chair. A smile crossed his face as the pain radiated up from his knuckles.

 

 

He leant over and dragged Jones back into the chair.

 

 

Gene gave a small scowl at the blood dripping from his suspect’s mouth. “Better for everyone if you talk,” he observed.

 

 

“I don’t…” he tried to wipe the blood on his cuff, looking nervously at Ray.

 

 

Ray didn’t bother to wait for the nod from Gene. He drove his fist in again, catching Jones on the cheek, watching as he sprawled onto the floor again.

 

 

“I can’t say! They’ll kill me!” Jones screamed, but Ray didn’t give a toss, he threw the chair aside and drove another punch into the man’s stomach, grabbing him by the collar.

 

 

“Tell us you little shit or I’ll fuckin’ kill you!” He picked Jones up by his shirt front, throwing him hard against the wall.

 

 

“Ray! Sergeant – enough,” Gene grabbed Ray’s shoulder. “Enough. And you,” he pointed to Jones’, “Better fuckin’ tell me everything you know or I won’t try an’ stop him.”

 

 

“Andy Small…an’ the Gregory brothers…they was all in on it too. Don’t…don’t tell ‘em I said owt. You can’t let ‘em know…they’ll kill me, they will…”

 

 

“It’s all you fuckin’ deserve,” Ray spat.

 

 

Gene grabbed Jones and dragged him to the door. 

 

 

Ray watched as the door swung closed behind the two figures. He slammed his fist into the nearest object on the shelf. It fell with a satisfying crash, but it wasn’t enough. He punched again and again, kicking at the items as they fell to the floor. The noise, the pain, and the destruction were just what he needed. He slammed his fist into the filing cabinet, feeling the metal give, then swung his other arm, sweeping things to the floor.

 

 

***

 

 

“Chris! Go and find Ray, tell ‘im we’re picking up the others,” Gene shouted on his way through the office, before starting to organise everyone else for the raids.

 

 

Chris obediently headed for the door, and it was only when he reached the corridor that he quickened his pace. A few people were staring at the door to Lost and Found as they walked past, and Chris could hear the occasional crash emanating from inside.

 

 

He paused at the door, wondering if Ray was still questioning someone, but there was no shouting, and besides, the Guv was upstairs.

 

 

He pushed the door open, scared of what he might find. He was just in time to see Ray smashing his fist into the filing cabinet again, leaving another dent in the already beaten exterior.

 

 

“Ray?” he said, but the sound barely came out. He approached slowly, jumping as Ray grabbed a stereo and slammed it into the floor. “Ray?” he said, a little louder.

 

 

Ray turned, and Chris could see the familiar anger burning in his blue eyes, usually reserved for suspects.

 

 

“The…Guv says we need t’go an’…um, get the rest of the gang, like,” he said nervously.

 

 

Ray nodded, and Chris could see his chest still heaving, catching his breath. He glanced around and realised the level of destruction Ray had wreaked on the small room. The chair and table were lying, upended, in the corner. Almost everything on the shelves had been swept off and smashed on the floor. And the filing cabinet – the only thing left standing – was dented and battered, from both punches and kicks.

 

 

Chris didn’t know what to say, nor did he know how to ignore the situation. Then he saw that Ray was holding his hand, as if in pain.

 

 

“Your hand! The doc said…” And the look Ray gave him made him trail off.

 

 

“’S fine,” Ray answered, walking past him and slamming the door back into the wall as he left the room.

 

 

Chris stood for a second, gripped by indecision. He quickly grabbed the table and chair, righting them, and kicked the worst of the debris under the shelves, hoping everyone would assume it had been the interrogation which caused the mess. Then he ran after Ray.


	26. Chapter 26

Ray lit a cigarette as he walked into the car park, and as he did so, looked at his newly-aching hand. There was no obvious damage, nothing different to the slight bruising and scuffs that were the legacy of every fight. His hand shook slightly as he took a long drag of his cigarette. He knew he had plenty of anger left for the scrotes they were about to pick up.

 

 

He sensed Chris behind him, but didn’t turn around, just reached into his pocket for his cigarettes and offered them over his shoulder.

 

 

Chris hesitated before taking one and settling against the planter next to Ray, waiting for Gene to emerge with the rest of the team. He glanced at Ray, still slightly scared. He wondered what on earth he was doing, falling for a bloke who was so different to himself - someone with whom he had nothing in common. Then he remembered their short incarceration in the machine sheds. Ray had been angry then, too, but only at Martin Cox and his gang. When they had been left alone Ray had changed, and, despite the situation, Chris had felt safe. He remembered Ray holding him, keeping him warm. He glanced across at Ray again, wishing there was something he could do to help now.

 

 

“Ray? You will…I mean, when we get an’ go after them, try an’…it’s just the docs said, about your hand, like, you shouldn’t…y’know…cos you might ‘urt it, more,” he stuttered out.

 

 

Ray scowled, ready for a sharp retort, but then he saw the genuine worry in Chris’s eyes. He looked down at his knuckles, noticing the slight swelling already.

 

 

“I’ll use me other fist,” he said, and gave Chris a small smile.

 

 

Chris smiled back, happy that Ray had taken a little bit of notice, at least. He knew he couldn’t ask for much more; Ray wouldn’t miss out on the raid.

 

 

Gene finally appeared, the rest of CID following him. Ray took his place in the passenger seat of the Cortina, and Chris slipped into the back. Most of the others piled into the marked van which was waiting for them. Gene stamped his foot on the accelerator, heading out across the city. Chris felt the familiar fear he always experienced when he knew things were going to get rough. Except, now he was scared not only for himself, but also for Ray.

 

 

 

They pulled up in a quiet street, small businesses tucked away under railway arches – a variety of small workshops, garages and other less legal activities going on in the run-down shacks.

 

 

“Come on then, showtime,” Gene grunted as he climbed from the car, cracking his knuckles.

 

 

Ray looked at Chris and gave him a reassuring smile. “Stick wi’ me,” he said, giving Chris a wink.

 

 

Chris nodded, glad that he’d be able to keep an eye on Ray, even if he knew that wasn’t quite Ray’s intention.

 

 

They waited in silence until everyone had got into position. There was no back entrance, so Chris knew there would be panic inside as soon as the door went in.

 

 

Ray glanced at Gene and both men moved as one, kicking the door in. Chris was pushed along as CID all scrambled in through the small entrance, shouts of ‘Police’ and ‘You’re nicked!’ mixed in with the yells of the criminals and the force of CID crashing through everything in their path.

 

 

Chris tried to keep with Ray, but in the chaos he found he needed to watch his back rather than keep tabs on anyone. It was only when the fighting broke off into smaller sections that Chris saw Ray slamming a man against one of the workbenches, struggling him into an arm lock. As the man fought back Chris saw Ray deliver a hard punch to his kidneys – using his good hand, Chris noted.

 

 

Chris jumped forward and helped Ray force the man’s arms behind his back and snap the handcuffs on him. He grinned at Ray, then they both turned - Ray kicking their captives legs out from under him, to ensure he would take no further part in the action - and re-entered the fray, Chris lashing out with his fists, wishing he was more confident of his fighting ability.

 

 

The gang, with nowhere to go and the prospect of long prison sentences, fought as hard as they could. Weapons were grabbed from their surroundings, and the police officers who weren’t already armed quickly followed the example and the fight moved from a punch up to a much more violent fight for survival.

 

 

Ray instinctively protected Chris, swinging out with the tyre lever he’d grabbed off the workbench. He wasn’t sure how they would end the situation, but there was no way they’d give up.

 

 

Then a deafening gunshot cracked out, chewing brick off the wall high above their heads. Everyone ducked instinctively.

 

 

“Drop yer weapons an’ give yourselves up or the next bullet’ll end up in one of you,” Gene shouted, his smoking gun held high and a dribble of blood emerging from his nose.

 

 

People slowly began picking themselves up, and Chris grabbed hold of the man nearest to him, fumbling with his cuffs, grateful when Ray kept the man from struggling with a well placed knee in his back.

 

 

Once the entire gang had been ‘cuffed and put into the back of the waiting vans, the officers stood around, comparing injuries and recounting stories of their fights. Ray lit up two cigarettes automatically, passing one over to Chris and inhaling deeply. He’d got away virtually untouched – just scraped knuckles and a few bruises.

 

 

“Alright?” he asked Chris.

 

 

Chris nodded. His lip throbbed from a wild punch and someone had caught him on the back with either a weapon or a kick, but it didn’t stop him smiling with relief. Everything had gone well, that was all that mattered.

 

 

***

 

 

That night Ray didn’t go to the pub, so Chris headed home with him. Nothing was said, but Chris knew that Ray didn’t want to spend the evening in the Arms after the news he’d been passed over for the promotion. It hurt Chris to see how disappointed Ray was, and he wanted to do something to cheer up the other man – make him feel better.

 

 

So he cooked dinner – just a simple meal, but he laid the table out properly and cracked open some beers to go with it. 

 

 

From the kitchen he could see Ray on the sofa, chain smoking and staring at the blank TV screen.

 

 

“’Ere, made some chops an’ veg,” he called through.

 

 

Ray looked up and nodded, jamming his dog end into the ashtray with more force than necessary.

 

 

Once they were sitting down, Chris poked at his food but was watching Ray.

 

 

“It’ll be all right,” he said. “An’ summat else’ll come up. Or mebbe the new bloke won’t like it – an’ you’ll get it anyway,” he said, hoping to make Ray feel better.

 

 

Ray bit back a sarcastic comment, knowing that Chris was only trying to help. “Aye, s’pose. I just…” he stopped and shook his head, not wanting to seem so bloody sorry for himself.

 

 

Chris gave a little smile. “An’ anyway, if you’d’ve been DI then they might’ve made me work with someone else. An’…I like workin’ with you.”

 

 

Ray could feel his bad mood slowly evaporating. It still hurt that he’d been passed over for the promotion, but he knew he had a lot of things to be thankful for. The main one was looking at him with a sad expression from across the table.

 

 

“Aye,” he agreed, finally smiling himself. “S’pose we’re stuck wi’ each other, you soft sod.”

 

 

Chris immediately felt better, knowing he’d helped. He dug into his food with more enthusiasm.

 

 

 

Once they had finished eating Ray gathered the crockery and dumped it into the sink, waving Chris away. “I’ll wash it up tomorrow,” he said, picking up his beer and taking Chris’s hand, dragging him toward the sofa.

 

 

Chris snuggled into Ray, slipping his fingers in between the buttons on Ray’s shirt, gently stroking Ray’s stomach. He couldn’t help but look up into Ray’s face, trying to read his expression.

 

 

Ray glanced down and noticed Chris’s gaze. “Wha’?” he asked.

 

 

“Just…nothing, jus’ lookin’.”

 

 

Ray lifted an eyebrow. “You’re daft, you are.”

 

 

“’Ve never, ‘ad this before. I mean…y’know, like proper boyfriend girl…y’know…boyfriend…stuff…I mean, if I’ve taken a…girl…home, me mum’s been there an’ that. And…she doesn’t really like me takin’ girls to my room…so…”

 

 

Ray couldn’t help but smile at Chris’s stilted attempts to explain himself. “So you’ve never…” he leant his head down and kissed Chris gently, sliding his arms around him and holding him tightly. “Done that.”

 

 

Chris stayed silent, but shook his head slightly.

 

 

Ray kissed him again and felt Chris wince slightly as he squeezed him.

 

 

“Wassup?” he murmured, planting a series of smaller kisses along Chris’s jaw.

 

 

“Jus’, in the fight, hurt me back a bit,” Chris said, wriggling to try and get into a more comfortable position.

 

 

“C’m’ere,” Ray sat Chris up. “Take off your shirt.”

 

 

Chris hesitated for a second, then complied as Ray headed for the bathroom. He sat on the edge of the sofa, trying to fold his shirt into some sort of neat pile.

 

 

“This’ll sort you out,” Ray smiled, brandishing a bottle. He sat next to Chris, tucking one leg under himself so he could reach Chris and poured a little of the liniment into his hand.

 

 

Chris jumped as the cool liquid made contact with the bruise, then relaxed into Ray’s sure touch.

 

 

“Bloke I know makes it – boxin’ trainer. He knows more ‘bout gettin’ beat up than you ever will,” Ray explained. “Good for bruises an’ all that.”

 

 

Chris didn’t really care what it was, he was just enjoying Ray’s strong hands rubbing over his back.

 

 

“Better?” Ray asked, and Chris nodded, a smile on his face.

 

 

Ray slid his hands up to Chris’s shoulders and rubbed them, then moved closer and kissed the back of Chris’s neck. Then, as his lips moved to kiss Chris’s ear, he pulled Chris back to lean against him and slid a hand down Chris’s belly to his crotch.

 

 

Chris gasped slightly as Ray’s hand slid between his legs, and then flinched as Ray’s other hand found his nipple and gave it a gentle tweak. He rubbed his right hand over Ray’s thigh, wanting to touch Ray too.

 

 

Ray could feel Chris’s cock hardening in his trousers.

 

 

“Want you naked, now,” he whispered.

 

 

Chris jumped to obey.

 

 

 

As soon as he could, Ray stood up and pulled his own shirt off, quickly followed by his trousers, then headed for the bathroom, returning quickly with a large pot of Vaseline.

 

 

Chris felt the beginnings of fear in the pit of his stomach.

 

 

Ray dropped the pot on the floor and wrapped his arms around Chris, kissing him gently, pressing their bodies together.

 

 

Chris couldn’t help but smile as he kissed Ray back. Wrapped in Ray’s arms, he felt safe, loved, and wanted.

 

 

“Sit down,” Ray said, in between kisses.

 

 

Chris obeyed slowly, not wanting to let go of Ray, and watched, eyes wide, as Ray dropped to his knees in front of him. Ray pulled Chris to the edge of the sofa, kissing him again, then slid his hand in between them and wrapped his fist around Chris’s cock. Chris gave a little gasp, then moaned in pleasure as Ray slid his thumb over the tip.

 

 

“You’re the most bloody…beautiful thing in the world,” Ray said, then dipped his head, pushing Chris backwards, and slowly kissing down his chest and over his belly before wetting his lips and sliding them over Chris’s dick.

 

 

Chris slid his fingers into Ray’s shaggy hair, trying to dictate the movement and largely failing as Ray’s hands held his hips down.

 

 

“Ray…” he started, before another wave of pleasure stole his words from him. He wanted to say how fantastic it felt – so much better than he’d ever felt before.

 

 

Then Ray hooked Chris’s legs over his shoulders and ducked his head even further, sucking and licking his way over Chris’s soft balls and then swiping his tongue over Chris’s arse.

 

 

Chris jumped and Ray continued, sliding his tongue over the puckered opening, pushing against it, completely surrounded by Chris’s scent. He reached between his own legs and stroked his dick.

 

 

“Ray…” Chris had no idea what to say. The thought of what Ray was doing disgusted him, but the feeling was so good, he didn’t want him to stop.

 

 

“Mmm?” Ray questioned, not stopping.

 

 

Chris had closed his eyes, just focussing on the feel of Ray’s tongue. Then, Ray let go of his own dick and wrapped his arm around Chris’s thigh, taking hold of Chris again and pumping his fist slowly.

 

 

Chris felt like his entire body was torn between which was more pleasurable.

 

 

Ray moved again, making the slow journey back up Chris’s body, now tasting the slight sheen of sweat on his chest as he licked around his nipples, then finally reached his mouth again, and was met by the flavours of cigarettes and beer.

 

 

“Enjoying?” he asked, the word half-lost in Chris’s mouth.

 

 

Chris nodded, smiling.

 

 

“More?” Ray asked.

 

 

Chris nodded again, more enthusiastically, then moaned into Ray’s mouth as Ray gently massaged his bollocks.

 

 

Ray grabbed the Vaseline and dunked two fingers into it. “You wanna stop, say so, right?” he said seriously.

 

 

Chris nodded, not imagining he could ever want to stop anything that was going to happen, if what Ray had done already was anything to go by. He felt the cool touch of the jelly and shuddered slightly as his sensitive nerve endings registered the change in temperature.

 

 

Ray spread the salve around, then used gentle pressure with one finger to push inside Chris’s body. He felt Chris tense and looked up to see his eyes wide as he watched what Ray was doing. Ray smiled and bent to suck the tip of Chris’s cock, hoping to distract him slightly.

 

 

He slowly pushed his finger in further, up to the second knuckle, twisting it slightly before pulling out and gathering more Vaseline. The tight ring of muscle made him wish he could hurry up and slide his cock in instead, but he knew he had to be careful, for Chris’s sake. After a minute more he added another finger, once again sucking Chris off for a few moments to take his mind off his arse and back onto pleasure.

 

 

Once he was sure there was enough Vaseline and Chris was as ready as he was going to be, Ray pulled his fingers out and stuck them back in the pot, finally stroking the viscous jelly over his own hard length.

 

 

“Ready?” Ray asked, sliding the head of his cock over Chris’s arse.

 

 

Chris smiled widely. “No, but…I’ll trust you that it’s worth it.”

 

 

Ray grinned, wrapped his fist around his shaft and pressed into Chris.

 

 

“Christ but you’re tight,” he panted, trying to hold himself back and breathing deeply.

 

 

Chris tried to relax, despite the pain, and watched the expression on Ray’s face.

 

 

Ray finally felt the slight give as the head of his cock slipped inside Chris, and he looked up, smiling. “Alright?” he asked.

 

 

Chris nodded. “Is that…all of it?” he asked nervously, pretty sure he couldn’t possibly fit any more inside.

 

 

Ray looked down at the inches still to go.

 

 

“Nearly,” he said, with an apologetic half-smile, feeling slightly bad about lying, but not wanting to scare Chris. He wrapped his slick hand around Chris’s dick and began a rhythmic stroking, timing his own small thrusts with the movement.

 

 

“Mmm,” Chris closed his eyes. “’S nice.”

 

 

Ray smiled, moving to rub his free hand down Chris’s chest and belly, glorying in the feel of the smooth warm skin.

 

 

He glanced down, pleased to see the inches slowly disappearing into Chris without too much effort. He rotated his hips slightly, biting back a moan of pleasure, certain that he’d never felt anything so good.

 

 

Suddenly Chris gave a small groan, looking up at Ray. “Think…I have to pee,” he said.

 

 

Ray shook his head. “No you don’t.”

 

 

“Honest, I…” Chris tensed slightly, but Ray rubbed a hand over his stomach in wide circles, knowing he could get Chris to relax again.

 

 

“It’s just…just forget about peeing, think about ‘ow it feels, and don’t worry, ‘s just yer body getting’ used to me,” he gave Chris a quick squeeze to emphasize the point.

 

 

He kept on moving, and after a minute smiled again at the confused look on Chris’s face. “Feels good, right?”

 

 

Chris nodded. “Like…yeah…” he closed his eyes, and Ray began sliding in and out more, his movements growing. He could feel his legs trembling as the sensations threatened to overwhelm him.

 

 

“Jesus, you’re so fuckin’ beautiful,” Ray panted. “Feel so…good,” he tried to slow himself, but he knew he was too far gone.

 

 

Chris panted, thrusting his cock into Ray’s tight fist and feeling the shock of pleasure from Ray fucking him.

 

 

Ray finally let go, the orgasm ripping through him, his muscles shaking, mouth open as he panted for breath. He couldn’t help but groan loudly, pushing into Chris as far as he could.

 

 

 

Chris felt Ray’s movement’s become more erratic, then there was a new sensation, warmth and slickness inside himself. Ray’s cock slid inside him even more easily. He reached down, wrapping his own hand around Ray’s on his cock, and guided Ray’s movements, moving the tight tunnel of Ray’s hand to his own liking, and he felt the warmth of orgasm wash over him. The blood seemed to rush in his ears, and for a moment he was deaf, lost in the pleasure of feeling the hot semen dripping over his hand, splashing on his stomach. He dropped his arms, dragging in breath, and felt Ray sliding his arms around him, dragging up to be held. He managed to organise his weakened arms enough to wrap them around Ray, holding him, panting and completely sated.

 

 

 

Finally Ray moved, rubbing his hand over Chris’s back. “C’mon, bathroom and bed.”

 

 

Chris didn’t want to move, but he could see the attraction of getting into bed, so he made the effort.

 

 

Ray stood up and hauled Chris onto his feet too. He didn’t want to let go of Chris – wanted to curl up with him and sleep, skin on skin.

 

 

They briefly cleaned up in the bathroom, then headed to the bedroom, Ray instinctively wrapping his arm around Chris, spooning up behind him under the covers.

 

 

“Love you,” he said softly, kissing Chris’s shoulder.

 

 

Unseen to Ray, Chris smiled widely. “Love you too, Ray,” he replied, and slid his hand into Ray’s, squeezing tightly.


	27. Chapter 27

Gene stood in his office, mug of tea in his hand, surveying his team through the window.

 

 

Everyone was working – a few desks empty where detectives were out on the streets, everyone else looked busy.

 

 

His gaze rested on Ray. His sergeant had apparently made a full recovery from both the experience and the injuries Blanchard had subjected him to. Gene was pleased. He knew lesser men would’ve questioned their role in the force or lost confidence. He also knew Ray was a lot stronger than that. His gaze shifted slightly to Chris, who was currently sitting on the other side of Ray’s desk, case files, an ashtray, and a plate with half a sandwich between them.

 

 

Chris was laughing at something, and Ray was wearing the expression he always wore when he was trying to convince someone of a highly improbable fact. Gene sipped his tea. He remembered the years he had spent on the desk next to Ray’s. The stupid practical jokes they’d pulled on other members of the squad, the nights they’d spent working together with a bottle of whisky on the go and arguments over who should go and fetch the kebabs or chips.

 

 

He had always assumed that when Ray was bumped up to DI little would change. He’d even debated putting another desk in his office for Ray. Sometimes he got lonely in the feeble glass and plywood box that kept him apart from his team. He knew he would never be bored with Ray – he could be relied upon to work hard when it was needed and provide welcome distraction when it wasn’t. If Gene wanted to rant, Ray would listen and agree in all the right places. When things had gone badly, Ray could be relied upon to find a couple of clean mugs and a bottle. When a case had been cracked, the criminal bastards locked up for a long time, Ray would be on the other side of the Party Seven, screwdriver and hammer in hand.

 

 

And now, for some reason, Gene was on his own, with some DI due in from bloody Hyde, and Ray was letting Chris finish his sandwich and flicking an elastic band at the arse of some plonk who was passing through the office.

 

 

Gene pulled out his hipflask and began tipping it in his tea. Then, he thought better of it, abandoned the tea and took a long swig straight from the hipflask. They were his team, God damn it, and he’d never felt less of a part of it. 

 

 

***

 

 

At the end of the day, Ray swung around Gene’s door, knocking as he did so, in a vague acknowledgement of protocol. “Comin’ down the pub, Guv? Get a few in before the match?”

 

 

Gene looked up, his mind only half registering the conversation, picking out the important words. “Pub?” he repeated, and a small part of him was incredibly pleased that Ray was obviously going, too – something he’d done rather less of, of late – often leaving Gene to drink alone – something which would never have happened of old.

 

 

“Aye, darts match, against the poofs from RCS?” Ray gently reminded, the insult sliding off his tongue without thought of the irony.

 

 

Gene smiled. He’d forgotten, but he was pleased. There was nothing like a night in the pub, with the real prospect of beating Litton - the slimiest man Gene had ever met - being a real part of the team - off duty, beer flowing, rank not an issue. And - Gene smirked as he realised - Chris wasn’t on the darts team.

 

 

 

Ray put his fingers in his mouth and let out a piercing whistle as Gary got the double seven to win his match. Gene shouted something completely unintelligible, but which Litton was fairly sure was questioning his mother’s sexual preferences. He turned around and fixed Gene with a glare, noting the DCI was hanging off his sergeant, spilling half his pint as he cheered.

 

 

“Bloody poofs,” he sneered, sliding his darts back into their leather case.

 

 

Gene and Ray turned to look at each other, silent for a second before both burst into uncontrollable laughter.

 

 

Litton shook his head, disgusted that his team were being beaten, but determined to keep the moral high ground on how police officers should behave, and stepped aside, leaving space at the oche for the next match to take place.

 

 

 

Chris replaced his beer mug on the bar, his elbow landing in a puddle of cold beer. He pulled a face, but didn’t take his eyes off Ray, who was having a fit of giggles over something that either Gene or Litton had said. He felt a small knot of jealousy in his gut. Ray had barely said two words to him all night, staying with the darts team in the back of the pub and only coming to the bar for the occasional refill. It seemed as if Gene was buying most of the drinks, though. And now Gene was there, arm around Ray, and both men were obviously thoroughly enjoying themselves.

 

 

“Penny for ‘em, Mon Brave?”

 

 

Chris was snapped from his thoughts and turned, plastering a smile on his face. “Nowt, Nelson,” he answered.

 

 

Nelson pulled a face which plainly said he didn’t believe Chris. “Didn’t get picked for the team?” he asked.

 

 

Chris shrugged. “Don’t really play – I mean, I do, but I’m not good enough for them.”

 

 

“Ah, it’s a serious business, no doubt. You’ll get there – you should come in more often. Practise makes perfect, so they say.”

 

 

Chris forced another smile. “Aye.”

 

 

Nelson wiped down the bar and shrugged slightly. He didn’t mind why people came to the pub – to drink away their sorrows or celebrate their success. The darts matches always brought both, plus plenty of money in the till.

 

 

 

Chris looked up as another cheer went up and saw Ray thumping Gene on the back, sheer delight on his face. In his minds eye he imagined it was him – having just thrown the last three darts in a vital match, beating their opponents, winning a trophy maybe. He would be the hero of the squad. He would be Ray’s hero.

 

 

 

Ray licked his lips, balanced his dart perfectly, and threw. The dart hit the treble eighteen with a thump. There was a ripple in the watching crowd. He transferred his second dart from his left hand to his right, adjusting it so it sat perfectly, he had already done the maths, so he spotted his target, breathed out and threw again. Someone behind him hissed out a ‘yesssss’ as the dart just sneaked inside the wire of the treble sixteen. Ray knew he’d been lucky. He just needed his luck to hold now – one more dart and they would have an insurmountable lead.

 

 

He breathed deeply and circled his head, feeling the vertebrae in his neck crack.

 

 

“Go on, Ray,” someone called, and a few other people joined in the encouragement before being hushed.

 

 

As soon as the dart left his fingers he knew it was a sweet one. It buried itself in the top of the double eight and the CID team and supporters erupted.

 

 

Ray was swamped by people patting him on the back, grabbing him, shaking his hand – someone even jumped on him, as if he’d scored the winning goal at Wembley. He staggered under the weight and the influence of the countless pints he’d drunk. The noise was deafening, chaotic yells of triumph mixed with taunts and jeers aimed at RCS. A hand found Ray’s and his darts were pressed into his grasp, safely rescued from the board and any possible revenge from Litton’s team.

 

 

He finally managed to get out of the scrum and reach his half-full pint glass on the nearby table. Gene managed to fight through the melee and pushed a very large chaser into Ray’s other hand. Then he turned around, lifting his glass aloft. “CID!” he shouted drunkenly. “An’ Raymondo!”

 

 

He grabbed Ray’s arm and lifted it as if Ray were a prize fighter, heedless of the beer raining down from their glasses.

 

 

Chris had stood when Ray had won the match, hoping to be amongst the first to congratulate him – hoping to prove that he cared and was proud. But Ray was on the other side of the pub, beer in hand, with Gene. He sagged back onto the bar stool, wondering if he shouldn’t just go home and let the team celebrate. He turned back to the bar, grabbing his drink and taking a long swallow, just wanting to finish up and leave.

 

 

As he put his empty glass down on the wood an arm draped around his shoulders. “Nelson,” Ray slurred. “’nother, an f’r ‘im.”

 

 

Nelson smiled and set about pulling the two pints. “You ever going to let them win, Mon Brave?”

 

 

Ray smiled, leaning very heavily on Chris as he swayed. “No fuckin’ danger,” he answered.

 

 

Chris couldn’t help but grin. Okay, Ray was possibly more drunk than Chris had ever seen him before, but they were in public, Ray’s warm body was draped over him and no one was batting an eyelid. Things, he decided, could be worse. He lifted his glass and knocked it against Ray’s. “To th’ hero of CID,” he grinned.

 

 

Ray smiled back – a wide grin that Chris didn’t see enough of. “CID,” he agreed, and managed to down a good quarter of the pint before coming up for air. Then he turned to Chris, slapped a beer-soaked hand against Chris’s cheek in a drunken attempt at a caress, and burped. “Need a piss,” he stated seriously, and lurched toward the back door and the alleyway up to the toilet.

 

 

Chris glanced around, then followed Ray, pretty sure that even if anyone noticed they’d only think he was looking out for his mate. He was fairly certain that at that moment a gang of armed blaggers could burst in and rob Nelson blind and no one would notice a thing, as long as the beer was untouched.

 

 

Chris caught up with Ray easily and guided him into the small room which housed a tatty toilet, a urinal and a washbasin, which seemed, as far as Chris could tell, to have been used interchangeably during the evening.

 

 

Ray planted a hand on the wall above the urinal and leaned heavily on it, head resting on his bicep. He decided the chaser Gene had given him was probably the turning point between very happily pissed and quite horribly rat-arsed. He turned around and was surprised to see Chris in the doorway.

 

 

“Ch…” he paused to belch. “’stopher,” he said seriously, zipping up his flies. “You’re the mos’…bloody beau’iful man.”

 

 

Chris couldn’t help but smile. “An’ that’s why we’re goin’ ‘ome, now,” he answered.

 

 

Ray frowned.

 

 

“How’d you like Litton to ‘ear you say summat like that?” Chris reasoned.

 

 

Ray’s frown deepened. “’S fuck’n’ true. An’…’f he don’t think so I’ll…” Ray swung a fist, unbalancing himself in the process. Chris took a quick step forward and grabbed him before he could do himself any damage.

 

 

“Home,” Chris ordered. “Before I ‘ave to pick your brains up out the drain cos you’ve knocked your head open on the karzi.”

 

 

Ray nodded and managed to get out of the doorway, bouncing off either side of it on his way.

 

 

Chris shoved him through the pub, before anyone could buy him another drink, grabbing their jackets on the way.

 

 

The night was warm for the time of year, despite it only being a few weeks since the last of the night frosts.

 

 

Chris debated trying to get Ray to put his jacket on, but feared that right now walking was challenge enough, without adding in anything more complicated. Ray leant against him, heavy and uncoordinated. Chris wondered if he’d been as hard to handle the night Ray had taken him home.

 

 

“Come on,” he murmured, one hand holding Ray’s shirt tightly, trying to steer him in a vaguely straight line.

 

 

Once in Ray’s flat, Chris fetched a large glass of water and placed it on the bedside table. Then he fetched Ray, trying to help him undress as Ray staggered around, ineffectually pulling at buttons and his belt.

 

 

In the end Chris gave up, watching as Ray collapsed onto the bed, his trousers undone but still on, one sleeve of his shirt on, the rest tangled under his body.

 

 

He undressed himself, tried to put some of the cover over Ray, then slid under the rest.

 

 

***

 

 

The alarm shrilled, a harsh noise breaking the silence. Ray swung out at it, knocking it and the glass Chris had put there the night before to the floor, and moaned.

 

 

“Shit,” he lifted his head just enough to see what he’d done and regretted the movement immediately.

 

 

Chris wiped a hand over his face, then swung his legs out of the bed. He hadn’t slept much, alternately stewing over Ray’s actions in the pub and worrying his lover might choke to death on his own vomit. (He remembered being taught all about that in basic training.) He was also very aware it was the first night he’d spent with Ray where he hadn’t been held in a sleepy embrace all night long.

 

 

Ray vaguely registered the movement, but kept his eyes shut and his mouth closed for fear of throwing up. He tried to regulate his breathing, contemplating the fact he’d have to move soon. He looked at the large wet patch on the carpet and realised he’d quite like some water.

 

 

Chris pulled on his pants and headed for the bathroom, turning to see Ray, one arm hanging out of bed, head resting on the mattress, looking very ill. He detoured into the kitchen, grabbing the washing up bowl and heading back to the bedroom. Turning the light on, he heard a strangled protest from Ray. He pulled the cover aside where it had pooled on the floor, making Ray groan again as the cold air hit his skin, then dumped the bowl on the floor.

 

 

“Chris?” Ray said feebly, wanting to open his eyes, but not prepared for the level of pain the bright light brought. But Chris had already headed for the bathroom.

 

 

Ray wracked his aching brain to work out why Chris wasn’t still in bed, snuggling up for a few more precious minutes of snoozing. He tried to remember the night before, but it just made his head hurt more.

 

 

He could hear the water running in the bathroom and realised he needed a piss. Movement was a really bad idea though. He finally decided he couldn’t put it off any longer, and rolled onto his side, curling up before finally attempting to push himself off the mattress. He wanted to sever all connections between his brain and the rest of his body the pain was so intense and all-consuming. But, after a brief rest, he finally made it onto his feet, reaching out and leaning on the wall immediately.

 

 

Chris brushed his teeth, decided not to shave and turned to leave the bathroom just as Ray made it to the doorway. His eyes were half-closed against the light, and his skin had an odd greyish look to it. Chris couldn’t begin to imagine how bad he was feeling. But a tiny piece of him was glad. Had Ray spent the evening drinking with him, he wouldn’t be in such a state.

 

 

“I’ll make some tea,” Chris said, pushing past and heading for the kitchen.

 

 

Ray watched him go, absolutely no idea what he’d done wrong, and slumped onto the toilet, twisting to rest his head on the cold porcelain of the basin next to him. It took him some time, but he managed to wash and brush his teeth and felt a tiny bit more human. He fumbled in the bathroom cabinet and tipped some painkillers into his hand, swallowing them with a mouthful of water from the tap. Then he knew he had to go and find out what he’d done the night before that had pissed Chris off so much. He honestly couldn’t think of anything.

 

 

He wrapped a towel around his waist and made his way unsteadily to the kitchen, where Chris was buttering some toast, the smell of which made Ray’s stomach seem to flip. He slid an arm around Chris’s waist.

 

 

“What’s up?” he asked.

 

 

Chris pushed a mug of tea toward him slightly. “Nothing,” he answered.

 

 

Ray moved to rest his chin on Chris’s shoulder, but Chris managed to spin out of his hold and headed for the fridge.

 

 

Ray watched him, whilst hanging onto the worktop for support.

 

 

“’Ave I done summat?” he asked.

 

 

Chris paused, looking in the fridge, not wanting to turn around and look at the sad expression on Ray’s face, but unable to explain how he’d felt the night before. He finally headed back to his toast. “No, not really.”

 

 

Ray would have rolled his eyes if he’d thought he could manage it without either throwing up or falling over. Instead, he used his free arm to reach out and pull Chris to him, looking into his eyes. “I di’n’t mean t’upset you, whatever it is, right?”

 

 

Chris tried to escape the hold, but Ray tightened it, not letting him go.

 

 

“Tell me why y’re upset wi’ me?” he said softly.

 

 

Chris looked away, and blinked away the sudden wetness in his eyes. “’S just…las’ night, in the pub…you hardly said two words t’me…an…an the Guv was like…I know you two’s best friends but…felt like…you’d rather be wi’ him than me.”

 

 

Ray took a moment to digest what Chris was saying. “We were jus’ playin’ darts…He…I mean we…’s just like we always do…”

 

 

“I know,” Chris answered, unable to explain that that was fine before, but somehow not now.

 

 

Ray was silent for a moment, waiting for more, but it was obvious Chris wasn’t going to say anything.

 

 

“I jus’…it’s what we do…when there’s a match, you been there before when we’ve played…I don’t…what ‘appened last night that were different?” he asked.

 

 

“’Cos you an’ him were…huggin’ and…he had his arm ‘round you an’ all, and you barely even spoke to me…an’ I just…didn’t matter before, before you an’ me were…but now we are an’…”

 

 

“Oh.” Ray nodded, it slowly dawning on him what it must have looked like to Chris. “’S…not like that…I mean…tell y’what, startin’ now, we’ll get you on the arrows, right? Then…you can get on the team an’…would that be better?”

 

 

Chris couldn’t help but give a small smile. “Yeah.”

 

 

Ray stroked his hand over Chris’s back, glad they’d worked it out. He didn’t think he’d have survived the day with a horrific hangover and a grumpy Christopher. Then he had a thought. “Did we win last night?”

 

 

Chris couldn’t help but smile a little. “Yeah, you did.”

 

 

“An’ did you drive us back?”

 

 

“No, we’d both ‘ad too much to drink.”

 

 

Ray nodded. He would have been pretty upset if his car had ended up climbing a lamp post for the sake of avoiding a short walk.

 

 

“S’pose we’d better get a move on then, pick it up on the way.” Ray headed into the bedroom, stumbling slightly on the way and losing the towel that was wrapped around his waist.

 

 

Once he’d finally managed to get dressed, having only fallen over twice in the process and wondering if he shouldn’t be sick again before departing for the station, he was finally ready to go.

 

 

Chris couldn’t help but smile when Ray emerged from the bedroom, tie hanging loose around his neck and looking like death warmed up.

 

 

“C’mon then,” he said, holding up Ray’s jacket.

 

 

The fresh air made Ray feel a little better, and apart from a few near misses when the pavement seemed to undulate under his feet, he thought he was probably going to survive the day.

 

 

He turned the corner and glanced up to the Arms. Then frowned.

 

 

“Where’s it?”

 

 

“Wha’?” Chris asked.

 

 

“Where’d I leave the car last night? Thought it were there,” Ray gestured to the pub.

 

 

Chris sniffed and looked around. “Dunno. Around the corner?” Except he was reasonably sure that it had been just along from the doorway of the pub…and it now most certainly wasn’t.

 

 

Ray quickened his pace, rounding the corner and looking up the street. There was no sign of the Capri.

 

 

“I don't fuckin'...” He turned around again, as if perhaps the car would have suddenly appeared.

 

 

Chris trailed after him, also casting his gaze around, but knowing that the car was no longer where they had left it.

 

 

“Fuckin' bastard...” Ray moved to the pub door, banging on it violently.

 

 

Eventually Nelson opened up, looking tired. “Mr. Carlin', what can I do for you at this early hour?”

 

 

“Me car, Nelson – left it here last night.”

 

 

Nelson nodded. “And?”

 

 

“And it ain't 'ere now! Did you 'ear owt - see anyone?”

 

 

Nelson shook his head. “Not a thing. I locked up when you left, went to bed shortly after, and you've just woken me up.”

 

 

Ray ran a hand through his hair. “Shit. Fuckin' bastard thieving scum...”

 

 

Nelson looked at Chris, who gave a sympathetic half smile. He shrugged back. “Guess you'll need to be going to the station then, Mr. Carlin', and report it stolen?”

 

 

Ray swore again, then punched the wall hard. It didn't help at all. Then he gestured to Chris. “C'mon then, better get a move on.”

 

 

Chris trailed after Ray, mouthing 'sorry' to Nelson, who saluted him and retreated into the pub.

 

 

 

Ray threw the door of the office open, making the whole wall reverberate.

 

 

“Afternoon,” someone said, sounding sarcastic.

 

 

“Some thieving bastard piece of shit stole my car,” Ray replied, loudly enough for the entire office to hear. “From outside the pub, too! If I ever fuckin' catch 'em I'll...”

 

 

One of the older detectives put his finger up to his lips. “Shit luck, mate, but your day'll get even worse if you disturb the Guv. He ain't feelin' too good after last night – said 'e'd shoot the first person what disturbed him.”

 

 

Ray flopped down behind his desk and lit a cigarette, watching Chris faff about trying to find forms, a log book, and a pen.

 

 

After filling out all the forms – Chris was trying his best to make sure absolutely everything was done correctly and asked Ray lots of questions even though he knew the answer to most of them himself – he finally steered Ray out of the office and down to the canteen for a bit of breakfast and some tea.

 

 

Then Chris hung around whilst Ray called his insurance company. Finally, they headed downstairs to try to find a half-decent car for Ray to borrow out of the CID motor pool. The fact that every vehicle in the car park looked like it should be heading for the scrap yard was more a testament to the reckless driving of the detectives than a lack of work on the mechanics’ part.

 

 

Finally they headed back to the office, Ray grumbling about the prospect of being stuck doing paperwork all day.

 

 

Ray slumped into his chair, shoving his feet into his drawer. No car, paperwork everywhere, Gene in a bad mood and everyone in the squad seeming like they were walking on eggshells around him. He knew his day couldn't possibly get any worse.

 

 

“Phone call came through a bit ago, Sarge,” one of the DCs called. “New Boss is on ‘is way.”

 

 

Ray stared. He was wrong, his day had, against all odds, managed to take another nosedive. Worse didn’t even begin to describe it.

 

 

A short time later the door opened, and a stranger walked into the office, staring at them all as if he were a lunatic. Everyone stared back at him. Ray hated him already.

 

 

Ray watched as Chris hesitantly approached the man, hand out in welcome. The man ignored it, and Ray bristled. Chris might be a div, but he was only trying to be friendly. Then it dawned on Ray who the newcomer must be. Chris started talking, rambling, and Ray knew he was nervous of the new DI. He joined in, but they were cut off.

 

 

“Shut up.” The man walked through the office, stopping and turning to address them all. “I don’t know who the hell you lot think you are, but this is my office, here. This…this is a door, right here,” he waved his arm. “And my desk is here. Where’s my desk? Where’s my desk! Chair! PC terminal!”

 

 

“Who?” Ray interjected, stopping the rambling man. “You want a constable up here?”

 

 

“Right..what the bloody hell’s going on here? This is my department – what have you done with it!”

 

 

Ray shot a look at Chris.

 

 

“Shhh, keep it down boss,” Chris said softly, glancing at the inner office.

 

 

Ray smirked up at him. “Too late.”

 

 

There was a cough and sounds of movement from inside, and all eyes turned to the doors.

 

 

They swung open and Gene Hunt appeared, cigarette in hand. Everyone was on their feet now, watching, waiting for the inevitable.

 

 

“Okay, alright. Surprise me, what year is it supposed to be?” the newcomer asked Hunt.

 

 

“Word in your shell-like, Pal,” Gene reached out, grabbing the man by his lapels, dragging him into the office and slamming him against the trophy-laden filing cabinet.

 

 

“Big mistake,” the smaller man said, shrugging off Gene’s hold.

 

 

“Yeah? What about this?” Hunt buried his fist into the guts of the new DI.

 

 

 

The watching audience gave a collective groan of sympathy.

 

 

Ray smirked. Hunt hadn’t finished, and through the glass the rest of CID watched as he clearly told the newcomer what was what.

 

 

Maybe, Ray reflected, it wouldn’t be such a bad day after all. If this new bloke really rubbed Gene up the wrong way, then he’d be on his way back to wherever he’d come from before you could say ‘party seven’, leaving the way clear for Ray to step into the role of DI. The team would be better for it, he was sure.

 

 

He turned to Chris. “Pint says he don’t last ‘til the end of the day.”

 

 

Chris smirked. “You’re on.”

 

 

~Fin


End file.
